


If It Were Not For Dreams

by Marblez



Series: Tomorrow Will Be Kinder [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marblez/pseuds/Marblez
Summary: Persephone Waters, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, had naively thought that the worst was over when she left the Arena. As she embarks on her Victory Tour, however, she discovers just how wrong she was…





	1. Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER:** I don’t own the Hunger Games but the OC’s are my creation.

 **SUMMARY:** Persephone Waters, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, had naively thought that the worst was over when she left the Arena. As she embarks on her Victory Tour, however, she discovers just how wrong she was…

 **A/N:** The title comes from a quote by Anonymous – “If it were not for dreams there would be no such thing as ballet, the cruellest of the performing arts.”

 **WARNINGS:** Canon-Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Language, Non-Con/Implied Rape

** IF IT WERE NOT FOR DREAMS  
** **CHAPTER ONE**

Persephone couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept through the night.

But, honestly, was that any surprise?

Since emerging “victorious” from the Arena of the 72nd Hunger Games her dreams, or more to the point her nightmares, had been filled with memories that she would prefer to forget.

It was as though she were being haunted, her subconscious refusing to let them fade.

And it wasn’t just her own actions that were haunting her, although the deaths she had caused either directly or indirectly made frequent appearances. No, she was also being haunted by everything that her fellow Tributes had done whilst fighting for their survival, whether or not it was something that she witnessed at the time or had seen afterwards during the awful recap she had been forced to sit and smile through for her audience.

It had reached the point where she considered four hours sleep a success.

That evening she’d only achieved three.

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last her dreams haunted by Arcturus and the events of their final confrontation starting from the moment the Gamemakers had forced them together and ending just when he’d begin to cut away her clothes so that he could…

She’d woken, screaming for him to stop, in the moments before she had managed to…

Stomach lurching she all but rolled out of her bed, landing heavily on her sock covered feet which proceeded to slip and slide on the hardwood floor as she hurried out of her bedroom into the en suite bathroom, barely making it to the toilet on time for the first painful heave.

It was at times like this that she was grateful for the ridiculous size of her new home.

The mansion she had been given within the secure compound known as the “Victor Village” was so large and its contents so extravagant that her bedroom, the master suite, with its two walk-in wardrobes and en suite bathroom took up one side of the single floor building.

Her parents, who spent most of their time unsure of how to behave around the daughter they had had little to no hand in raising, had moved into the first of the three guest rooms which, along with their shared bathroom and the bathroom which she had been informed was the pool bath as it had a door beside it which led out onto the covered lanai at the back of the house at the edge of which was the pool, took up the opposite side of the building.

Because of this, the sheer distance between them, her parents knew nothing of her dreams.

Once her stomach had calmed down enough she leaned back from where she had been hunched over the bowl of the toilet and waited, counting to twenty-five to ensure that nothing more would be coming up, before finally reaching out to flush the mess away.

That done she rose from her kneeling position and headed to the sink to brush her teeth.

A glance in the mirror had her wincing, her gaze dropping to her hands.

Even after six months she still looked nothing like herself.

Her hair was the worst, she freely admitted, due to the fact that her natural colour had been growing through at the roots and there was now three inches worth of brown before the purple began, still as vivid as it had been when they’d first dyed it for the Tributes Parade.

This, combined with the fact that her hair was such a vastly different length on both sides of her head, left her looking and feeling ridiculous but she hadn’t had the energy to get it fixed.

Her eyes, or rather the skin underneath them, wasn’t much better.

Dark circles, in such a vivid black-ish-purple, made it appear as though she’d been attacked.

And she had, she supposed, by her memories…

Going through the motions of brushing her teeth, every move automatic, she finally turned away from her reflection and headed across to the enormous shower which took up one corner of the luxurious bathroom and could have easily fit six people inside of it at once.

There was no hope of her getting any more sleep that night, she knew, so it was time for her to begin her daily routine which meant that it was time for a painfully hot shower. Stripping off her pyjamas as she moved, a comfortable set of purple plaid bottoms and a white long-sleeved cotton top which matched her white and purple striped fluffy socks, she left a trail of clothes from the sink to the hidden linen closet, her cotton panties landing in front of it.

Pressing on what appeared to be a simple wall panel she stepped back to allow it to swing open towards her and then collected her freshly laundered towels from within, a large one for her body and a smaller one for her hair, pushed the hidden door closed and moved over to the glass enclosed shower. There was a place inside to hang her towels but she’d never trusted it, fearing that they’d get soaked, and so she set them on the spotlessly clean floor beside the glass door before slipping inside. The shower, as one would expect when faced with such luxury, possessed a motion sensor which set it running as soon as the door closed.

It was both a blessing and a curse that the shower head was of the rainfall design.

On the one hand it completely soaked her body in moments, the almost scalding hot water washing away the last remnants of her nightmare, but at the same time it often made her think of washing within the Arena, the heavily cascading water very similar to the waterfall.

And that, of course, made her think of Aurora.

Today, with everything that was scheduled to happen, was one of those days.

It was New Years Day.

Most people would be celebrating the start of a new year but for Persephone and anyone else involved in the Hunger Games today would mark the beginning of her Victory Tour.

It was, therefore, almost expected when her own voice filtered through the back of her mind as she began scrubbing at her scalp with the “colour protecting” shampoo that she was sent every month from Batiatus in the Capitol, her stylist still controlling her image.

_“Right, that's it. I'm going to bathe.”_

_“You’re going to what?”_

Auroras voice, even though it was just a memory, caused her eyes to fill with tears.

Poor, poor Aurora…

_“Bathe. I'm tired of feeling dirty.”_

_“But…Persephone!”_

Sad as she was it still made her smile softly to recall how scandalised she’d been.

_“What if they're broadcasting this live?”_

_“I don't care.”_

And she hadn’t then.

Unfortunately, given her new occupation as a Victor, she did now.

There were days when she couldn’t even bring herself to leave her bedroom, not wanting anyone to see the creature that she had become in the six months following her Games.

Not even Gloss and Cashmere, her Mentors who visited at least once a week.

No, she couldn’t face them any more than she could her parents or the two women who’d been employed to act as what was effectively her housekeeper and housemaid, keeping the place clean and tidy and making sure that she had everything that she could possibly need.

Even the fact that they, as two of District Ones youngest Victors, could probably still recall how they themselves had felt in the run up to their own Victory Tour and would therefore be the best people to help her cope if not comfort her couldn’t bring her to speak to them.

It was almost laughable.

She was a performer who no longer wanted to appear before an audience.

There would be no more hiding from today, however.

Everyone, be they in the Capitol or the Districts, would be watching her for the foreseeable future as she completed her Victory Tour, either in person of through the live video feed.

Once upon a time the idea of visiting the other Districts of Panem would have filled her with excitement but now, knowing that she would have to stand before the families and friends of the Tributes who had had to die in order for her to win and speak to them of the honour of the Games, of the glory of the Capitol and Panem, the very idea of it filled her with dread.

Rinsing out the shampoo she applied the matching conditioner to her hair and stepped out from under the spray of water so that she could use the comb provided to brush it through her hair, particularly the longer portion which often became knotted when she washed it.

Once the conditioner was suitably spread through her hair she let it sit for the amount of time it took to apply a razor to her armpits, removing the slight stubble which had grown since the last time she had taken the time to shave. Her legs she left alone, figuring that Batiatus would insist upon her being waxed once her and her prep team arrived later on.

That done she took her time washing the conditioner out of her hair, using the brush a couple more times to get the knots out of it, and then the final step of her routine when showering was an all over scrub with the moisturising body wash Batiatus also sent to her.

A final rinse and she was slipping out of the shower stall, the water cutting off as soon as she opened the door, and wrapped the larger towel around her body, securing it in place with the same tuck and fold method she’d always used. Then she used the smaller towel to fashion a turban around her wet hair just as she had done when she was inside the Arena.

Picking up her pyjamas and socks, leaving the panties where they were for the moment, she returned to her bedroom and set about drying herself off and redressed in her comfortable sleepwear, fetching a clean pair of panties from the smaller of the two walk-in wardrobes.

Her hair she left trapped within the smaller towel for now.

Retrieving the dirty panties from the bathroom she dropped them into the laundry basket alongside the larger towel before pulling on her deep purple dressing gown and stepping out of her bedroom into the enormous area at the centre of the house which was an open plan combination of living room, dining room and kitchen. The foyer and front door were to her left as she crossed from her bedroom to the kitchen area, behind which lay the guest bedrooms, and to her right past the comfortable chairs and settees were a set of sliding glass doors which led out onto the lanai and to the pool beyond. There was another set of similar sliding doors in her bedroom, also leading to the lanai, and she had yet to step through either. In fact she hadn’t stepped through the front door since they’d moved in.

A glance at the clock mounted to the wall above the refrigerator informed her that it was just coming to three o’clock meaning that there were almost four hours to wait before the sun even began to appear on the horizon and as such the world outside was still plunged into darkness. Thankfully there were a series of small “emergency” lights throughout the main area which stayed on twenty-four hours a day which were just bright enough for her to get to work in the kitchen without having to switch the painfully bright ceiling lights on.

As had become her habit upon waking from a nightmare her first more was to put a pan of milk on to warm so that she could make herself a large mug of hot chocolate, topping it with rather a lot of whipped cream, a sprinkle of chocolate powder and a dozen marshmallows.

It was a drink that she’d never been allowed to have before now, given that it was far too unhealthy for a dancer, and was something her mother had made her when she was little and had had a “bad dream” as they’d been called then. The first time she’d woken from a nightmare following her return to District One it had been almost instinctive to head into the kitchen for the comforting drink. An extra hour of dancing in her study, converted into a practice room before she’d even moved in, was her compensation for the sheer amount of calories that the daily hot chocolate, whipped cream and marshmallows added to her diet.

Because she couldn’t stop.

No, she needed something after her nightmares and she knew that if it wasn’t hot chocolate she would turn to something else, some stronger and far more damaging in order to cope.

Perhaps drugs, prescription painkillers or something much more dangerous.

Or alcohol.

Wine was never in short supply in the house thanks to her parents.

Now that she had a “coping mechanism” of her own she found it easier to recognise in the other Victors, even those she’d only ever seen during the official Hunger Games broadcasts.

Rhett Castaneda, Oswin Perry and Klara Newman of District Six were particularly infamous for their Morphling habits, almost as infamous as Haymitch Abernathy of District Twelve’s dependence on alcohol. Chaff Weizmann of District Eleven, Haymitch’s partner in crime or so the broadcasts had always made out, didn’t seem quite so dependent but was always there beside him, nursing a glass of something. She assumed, quite rightly, that Brutus Whittaker of District Two used exercise as his coping method, his muscles becoming almost ridiculous for a man of his age. Atam Sutton, of District Three, smoked and if she were to hazard a guess not all of his cigarettes contained tobacco; some were probably filled with something a little bit stronger. Bluebell Figueroa of District Five was never seen without a cup, be it ceramic of made of paper, of coffee in her hand. And Persephone was pretty sure some of the other Victors probably shared a similar coping method to hers, turning to food and non-alcoholic beverages, but the only one who had allowed it to be obvious was Lorna Drew of District Ten who had allowed herself to put on quite a bit of weight over the years.

Before she had shared most people’s view that the Victors had been rubbing their wealth in the faces of those in Panem, particularly those in the outer and therefore poorer Districts.

Now she knew better and, so, felt nothing but sympathy for her fellow Victors.

She ended up spending an hour or so sat in the kitchen at one of the bar stools drinking hot chocolate, refreshing her mug until the pan of milk was empty, and then set about clearing away any evidence that she had used the kitchen at all, returning it to its spotless state in less than half-an-hour despite how careful she had to be to keep her actions as quiet as she could so as not to disturb her parents who slept on the other side of the kitchens lone wall.

This done she headed back to her room, going straight to the larger of the two walk-in-wardrobes from which she retrieved one of her many rehearsal outfits, changing into the tights, sports bra and long sleeved leotard in no time. A pair of thigh-high leg warmers were pulled on next and then she moved to the bathroom to sort out her hair, bending over at the waist so that it hung in front of her as she towelled it dry, brushed it through and then put it up in a simple but effective bun. Lastly she took her pointe shoes, not her lucky pair as those had been framed by her parents and hung on the wall above the fireplace upon her return from the Capitol, and her split sole ballet slippers which, she noticed regretfully, would need replacing soon as the toes were starting to wear through as often happened.

Suitably dressed and prepared she walked barefoot, carrying her shoes, to her converted study. It was the most soundproof room in the mansion, allowing her to put her music on as loud as she wanted and dance for however long she wanted without disturbing anyone.

This was where she had spent the majority of the last six months.

Dancing could be angry.

It could be sad.

It could be filled with longing, with regret.

It could be an outpouring of pain.

And, if you danced hard enough and long enough, it could make you numb inside and out.

This final state was what she longed for and strived to achieve most days.

Time passed unnoticed as she first stretched and then danced, sometimes enacting routines she had learnt over the years, other times improvising to whatever the music made her feel.

It was as she was practicing her pirouettes, spinning over and over again on the tips of her pointe shoes, that the light above the door flashed to signal that someone had rung the front doorbell. She stopped midway through a turn, startled, and moved to open the door. 

Her mother smiled at her as she passed her having already been on her way to greet their visitor they both expected to be Titus, Batiatus and the rest of Persephone’s prep team.

When the frosted glass door was opened, however, they were shocked to find,

“President Snow?!” her mother gasped, her usually calm voice trembling with shock. A thud came from the kitchen, her father dropping something she guessed as he reacted in his own panicked way to their unexpected gust. Persephone froze. “This…this is indeed an _honour_!”

Why…why was President Snow at their…her front door?

As far as she knew he _never_ left the Capitol.

What…?

“Oh!” her mother cried, clearly panicking in the face of their unexpected guest. “Excuse my manners! Please, please, come in. Can I…can I get you anything? A drink? We have coffee…”

“No, thank you, my dear.”

Yes, that was definitely President Snows voice.

“I’m just here to have a word with Persephone prior to her Victory Tour,” he explained congenially, stepping into the house followed by his Peacekeeper guards. “Is she here?”

“Oh, of course,” her mother responded brightly, stepping backwards a couple of paces so that she could gesture to where Persephone was still stood frozen in place. “Here she is.”

And there he was.

“Miss Waters,” President Snow murmured, extending a hand to her which she automatically met with one of her own, allowing him to kiss her knuckles. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“…the pleasure is all mine, sir,” she responded politely, her training kicking in just when she needed it the most, allowing her to sound much more put together than she really was. To her horror a trickle of sweat suddenly appeared on her nose. “I can only apologise for my appearance,” she hurried to mumble, taking her hand back and wiping her hands over her face to get rid of the worst of the sweat. “I wasn’t expecting you so I’ve been practicing…”

“Not a problem, my dear,” he reassured her. “I’m pleased to see you like the practice room I ordered installed for you. I’m told the products are of the highest quality for District One.”

“It’s perfect,” she replied honestly. “I spend most of my time using it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured, his pleasant tone of voice dropping into something altogether different but, sadly, it wasn’t something that she could identify in that moment. All she knew was that, as he looked her up and down once more, a unpleasant queasiness settled upon her. “Now, I’m afraid that I must interrupt your practice as I need to speak to you on a very important matter. Is there somewhere private that we might adjourn to?”

Without the study available for its original use the only private room she had was…

“Only my bedroom, I’m afraid.”

“That will do nicely, my dear,” he reassured her, that strange tone back. “Lead the way.”

Offering her mother a nervousness smile she picked up her ballet slippers from where she’d left the, at the bottom of the mirror wall when she’d changed into her pointe shoes and led the most powerful and most feared man in all of Panem into her private bedroom, aware of his gaze upon her as well as that of her parents. A feeling like ice pooled in her stomach as she heard him calmly lock the door behind them, realising after a beat that it was terror...

The same kind of terror she had felt inside the Arena…

“I’d like to begin by reaffirming my congratulations regarding your performance during your Games, my dear,” he began calmly as she turned to face him, fiddling with the rose pinned to his lapel until it was sitting perfectly. “You were a refreshing change to the few Victors.”

She’d heard that opinion time and again during the compulsory broadcasts since her Games.

Johanna Mason, Victor of the previous Hunger Games, had won no ones admiration for her deceptive tactics, playing the part of a pathetic, weak creature before killing the favourites.

Before her had been Annie Cresta, the Victor who had gone mad inside her Arena and had only won due to her ability to swim, coming from District Four, when her Arena had flooded.

And before that had been Kol Styx, despite being District Two, had won almost by default after almost all of the Tributes that had survived the bloodbath had died of hypothermia spread throughout the frozen landscape of their Arena which had left him facing the male tribute from District Nine in the finale, a thirteen year old boy who had barely put up a fight.

All three had been disappointments in the Capitol’s eyes.

“I have therefore decided to bestow a great honour upon you,” President Snow continued, reaching into his pocket and producing a velvet jewellery box. “I have decided to become your Patron, a position I haven’t held since my last chosen Victor, Radience Dixon, who as I’m sure you’ll remember also came from this charming District, passed away suddenly.”

“…I…I don’t know what to say…”

“Thank you if the traditional response,” he responded, a hardness creeping into his voice as he popped open the box and offered it to her. “It is traditionally worn on the right hand.”

Nestled inside the box was quite possibly the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen.

It was a mixture of silver and rose gold, the band made entirely of silver whilst the rose gold had been shaped into an actual rose at the head of the ring. The centre of the large rose was adorned with a beautiful diamond and there were even more diamonds set into the band.

She blinked at it for a long moment.

She’d never heard of a Victor having a Patron.

What did it mean?

What did it make him to her?

What did it make her to him?

Given who it was that was offering her the ring and the so called honour she could hardly refuse, however, and so she forced one of her brightest smiles onto her face and carefully took the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her ring finger, finding that it fit perfectly.

Of course it did…

“Thank you, President Snow. You honour me.”

He smirked, obviously agreeing with her soft statement, and moved to place the now empty jewellery box on her dressing tables which took up almost the entire wall opposite her bed.

“Now, as important as that duty was my becoming your Patron was not the main reason for my visit today, although it does play a part in it,” the powerful man continued, peering at the artwork decorating the walls of her room before moving to gaze out of the glass doors at the lanai. “What have your Mentors told you about the duties of a Victor, Miss Waters?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t had many opportunities to speak to them, sir. I have been…unwell…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Snow murmured, a twinkle in his eyes leading Persephone to suspect that he had already known the answer to his question before he’d asked it. “I assume that you are aware that you may be called on to act as Mentor in the future?”

“Yes, I am, sir.”

“Excellent. I shouldn’t think you shall be called on to do so for a few years, at least, given the success that your two Mentors are currently having,” he explained, somehow managing to sound pleased and threatening all at once. Persephone didn’t dare to move, standing beside her bed, her left hand cradling her right and the new ring it bore. “This is most fortunate, Miss Waters, as I’m afraid you shall be quite busy with your other duties for quite a while.”

“…other duties?”

“Why, repaying your sponsors, of course,” Snow explained simply with an almost cold laugh, one that sent a shiver down her spine. “A number of Capitol citizens, myself included, spent a fair amount of money on you this year, my dear, and it is time for you to pay them back.”

“…pay them back?”

“With your time,” he began his explanation. “Be that on their arm at a party or in their bed.”

Had he…

Had he just implied that…

“I...I beg your pardon?”

President Snow chuckled, turning to face her.

“You are a valuable commodity, Miss Waters,” he informed her almost gleefully, his hand rubbing over the knob at the top of his element cane as he continued, “And a very beautiful young woman. As I said people have already paid and will continue to pay handsomely for the _pleasure_ of you company which you _will_ give them. It is for the good of Panem, my dear, to keep the benefactors happy, and for the good of your District and your future Tributes, keeping the Sponsors willing if not eager to part with their money when the time comes.”

He made it sound as though she were to become a…a…

“Most Victors stay at the Tribute Centre when they visit their _friends_ in the Capitol but I have arranged for you to have your own apartment closer to the Presidential Mansion as, given that I am your Patron, most of your time shall be spent with me,” he continued, his hands tightening on both the knob and the shaft of his cane. “As is the right of a Patron.”

Yes, he did mean that she was to become a…a _prostitute_ …

“But...I didn’t realise...” she stuttered, her body trembling. “...can't I just stay here, sir?”

“I don't think you fully understand what I’m saying,” Snow announced, his icy gaze meeting and locking with hers. “Nothing in this life if free, Miss Waters; not your survival within the Arena, not your new fame, not your life of luxury, not the continued safety of your family.”

Persephone gasped sharply, suddenly reminded of the fact that her parents were alone with an squad of Peacekeepers and that on the command of the man before her they could be…

“I see you understand the gravity of your situation now,” Snow gloated. “Others have not.”

She watched, gasping every so often in fear, as he pulled out a portable holo screen from his jacket pocket, moving to set it on her dressing table and switching it on. An image appeared, that of a very young and mortally wounded Haymitch Abernathy of District Twelve defeating his final opponent by, somehow, making her axe rebound back off of thin air and strike her.

A frown of confusion marred Persephone’s forehead.

This…this had never been shown in any of the recaps she’d seen…

“Mr Abernathy used the forcefield surrounding the Arena as a weapon, something that we couldn’t allow, and so he was already skating on thin ice when he refused to perform as was expected of him,” President Snow explained calmly as the image changed to a dimly lit video of an older man and woman, a boy of about twelve and a girl of sixteen or so being shot in the back of their heads by the person wearing the camera. A garbled scream escaped her with each shot, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in order to muffle them. “As such his family and his girlfriend were lost in a tragic house fire which they were unable to escape.”

The projection showed a badly burning house before changing to the angry face of Johanna Mason as she stood over the body of the Career she’d killed in the finale of the 71st Games.

“Last year Miss Mason showed that she had a clever, cunning mind, for all that it led to a disappointing Games in terms of spectacle. Sadly she too refused to play by the rules that were outline to her following her Victory and her family were also tragically killed in a fire.”

It was the same as before, a video of a man, his wife and their three children only one of whom was of Reaping age being executed before changing to an image of a burning cabin.

Finally the holo shut itself off with an audible click.

Persephone stood, frozen, with her hands pressed rightly over her mouth.

She wanted to scream…

She wanted to wail…

How could…how could this be happening?

She couldn’t…

“Do you understand the situation you’re in now, Miss Waters?”

A weak nod, her eyes watering, was her only answer.

If she refused him then he would have her parents…

She may not have grown up with them, attending the _Academy of the Arts_ as she had, but they were still her _parents_ …and who was to say he’d stop there? What about her friends?

No.

She, like so many before her, had no choice but to obey.

“Good,” Snow murmured, offering her a cold smile. “Now, as your Patron I am entitled to sample your delights before all others so, please, remove your clothes and get on the bed.”

Hands trembling she obeyed, stripping out of her sweat soaked rehearsal gear as he stood, watching, from the door of the bed and all too soon for her liking she was naked before him.

“I'm told you are still a virgin,” he murmured as she obediently climbed onto her bed after pausing for a moment to sort out the tangled covers. “Is that correct? Do not lie to me…”

Her cheeks flushed so hotly that it felt as though they had been burned.

“Y-Yes...” she managed to choke out. “I haven’t…I’m still…”

“Good.”

A lump became lodged in her throat as, with that pleased murmur, he began to undress himself, taking much more than she had with the state of his expensive and tailored suit.

She had seen her fellow dancers naked, if by accident, more times than she could count.

This…this was different…

President Snow chuckled as he joined her on the bed, using his hands to spread her shaking legs apart so that he could crawl between them like the monstrous predator that he was.

“You should feel honoured, my dear,” he informed her, looming over her as she desperately tried to press back into her pillows. “Not every Victor enjoys the pleasure of my company.”

Turning her head to the side as he leaned down to attack her neck, biting so sharply that she let out a strangled whimper from the pain, she could only pray that it would be over soon…

~ * ~

 **A/N** I’ve had a bit of a break from Hunger Games stories but, well, I’m back! I couldn’t leave Persephone’s story hanging, as it were, so now we shall find out just how bad things can get before they get better. As you can see I won’t be too traffic with the rape/dub-con elements of this story but given the natives of life as a Victor I can’t gloss over it entirely. I hope some of you enjoyed this first chapter in the latest addition to this series. Comments welcome. X


	2. Chapter Two

**DISCLAIMER:** I don’t own the Hunger Games but the OC’s are my creation.

 **SUMMARY:** Persephone Waters, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, had naively thought that the worst was over when she left the Arena. As she embarks on her Victory Tour, however, she discovers just how wrong she was…

 **A/N:** The title comes from a quote by Anonymous – “If it were not for dreams there would be no such thing as ballet, the cruellest of the performing arts.”

 **WARNINGS:** Canon-Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Language, Non-Con/Implied Rape

** IF IT WERE NOT FOR DREAMS  
** **CHAPTER TWO.**

It felt as though she was floating upon a cloud, horror mixing with disbelief as she watched her tormentor remove himself from her body and set about dressing himself in his exquisite clothes, all the while watching her with a critical eye as she lay unable to move, trembling.

“That was most enjoyable, my dear,” President Snow announced as casually as though he were speaking of the weather whilst smoothing his hair back into its usual style, checking himself in her mirror. “Your technique shall need some work, of course, but I’ll let you off this once as your innocence was enchanting. I shall expect a better performance next time, however, so please use your forthcoming appointments to improve yourself. I would also suggest studying with your Mentors as they are two of the Capitol’s most popular Victors.”

An arched eyebrow prompted her to respond softly,

“Yes, Sir.”

“You will find a bottle of pills in your medicine cabinet which will prevent pregnancy after the fact,” he continued, adjusting the rose pinned to his lapel until it was perfect once more. “And another which will act as a contraceptive in advance. Please use both accordingly.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She had seen the pill bottles in her medicine cabinet amongst the packets of headache relievers, muscle relaxants, elasticated bandages and plasters but hadn’t touched them, unsure as to what sort of pills they were as the labels simply stated ‘Type A’ and ‘Type B.’

Now, she wished she didn’t know.

“You shall receive a new supply of the contraceptive every month as it is to be taken daily,” he continued, calmly retrieving his cane and heading for the door. “Now, I recommend you clean yourself before your Stylist arrives as it wouldn’t do to appear in such an unladylike state, now would it? I myself must be returning to the Capitol so until next time, my dear.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before leaving which was good as she hadn’t had one to give.

She couldn’t think straight.

All that she could focus on in that moment was the way her body hurt…

He’d scratched her in a couple of places…

His tight grip had left bruises on her waist, her arms and around her neck…

A whimper escaped her as she recalled how he had choked her in those final moments…

But worst of all was the unfamiliar ache between her legs…

And then, as she focused on that ache, she felt something else.

Something different and, in that moment, altogether worse.

His…his… _seed_ was…was…

Crying out as her stomach lurched in response to the feeling of the unfamiliar liquid dripping down the insides of her thighs she launched herself from her bed for the second time that morning, stumbling a as he trembling legs almost gave way, and made it to the toilet just in time as she heaved up everything she’d eaten since the last time she’d lost control this way.

It didn’t help that the dripping sensation continued, getting worse in her new position.

Stomach painfully empty for a second time she stumbled into the shower, not bothering with any of her usual preparations and allowed the pleasantly hot water to rush over her.

After a long moment spent just standing there she began to scrub away the evidence of what he’d done to her with a series of erratic, almost violent, movements, increasing the temperature of the water again and again until it she was in danger of scalding herself.

But even after all that she still didn’t feel clean…

Her skin was red raw by the time she finally admitted defeat and stumbled, naked and dripping wet, out of the shower and over to the medicine cabinet hidden above the sink.

There were the bottles, sitting innocently on the middle shelf.

Unsure as to which was which, something that she’d have to ask Cashmere about, she tipped out one from each and knocked them back dry, wanting to get it over with quickly.

It was then, as she shut the cabinet, that she finally looked at her reflection.

She looked…

That wasn’t…

Who was that girl in the mirror, she found herself wondering, because it wasn’t her.

Before she’d even made the conscious decision to do so she was hurrying back into her bedroom, still naked and dripping water everywhere, and pulling open the drawer above the kneehole of her dressing table and began frantically searching through its contents.

It was filled with every possible beauty product she could have ever had imagined, despite its relatively small size, and had come with the mansion. Her makeup was kept in another drawer, the top left one of the dressing table, and her hair accessories were in the top right.

Eventually her fingers closed around the item that she’d been searching for.

A pair of hairdressing scissors, provided for her to trim off any split ends she found.

That want what she used the, for now.

Not even hesitating for a moment Persephone pushed the drawer shut, sat upon the stool so that she could see herself in the mirror, took hold of a clump of her purple hair and cut it off at the point where here natural hair colour began. Dropping the purple strands onto the floor she attacked the next clump and the next, continuing until all of the purple was gone.

It its place was an uneven mess of damp blonde hair.

Moving slowly she set the scissors down in front of her, breathing deeply, and then pushed herself to her feet, her legs feeling like they were made of jelly and turned to face her bed.

The evidence of what had happened to her was plain to see.

Just as before her body was moving before she made the conscious decision to get rid of it, to strip the soiled sheets from the bed and stuff them into the laundry basket to be washed.

There was blood, she noticed.

Not much, just enough to confirm that her innocence had been taken from her.

At the last moment she changed her mind, retrieving them from the laundry basket and instead set about tearing them into strips, her hands aching as the fabric resisted, before spreading the strips throughout the trash bins in her bedroom, wardrobe and bathroom.

It was only as she finally moved to dry herself off in the bathroom, although most of the water had already evaporated off of her flushed skin by that point in time, that she caught sight of the ring glistening upon her finger. Had it come from anyone else she would have treasured it and would never have risked wearing it in the shower lest it be damaged or come loose and disappear down the drain. As it was she could care less for the beautifully crafted piece of jewellery. It marked as his whore, in her eyes, so let it tarnish and fade.

Once dry she dressed herself in a loose fitting olive coloured knitted jumper with a high polo neck, choosing it because it would hide the marks on her neck, the bruises growing darker with every moment that passed. With it she wore a pair of comfortable grey chinos, rolling the end of the legs up to just above her ankles before pulling on a pair of white plimsolls.

Stepping out of her bedroom she was met by her parents twin frowns of confusion.

She was spared from having to answer whatever questions they had by the arrival of Titus, Batiatus and the members of her prep team, each of them looking just as ridiculous as ever.

Batiatus had barely taken two steps inside when he froze, all but screeching,

_“What have you done to your hair?!”_

“I cut it,” she found herself answering simply, bringing her right hand up to run her fingers through the mess she had made of her hair. “I wanted a change. I hope you don’t mind…”

“Mind? Why would I mind?” Batiatus responded sarcastically, shooting her a glare as he paced in a tight circle around her. “It’s not like I’ve planned a hairstyle for each and every one of your outfits for the forthcoming tour that requires long hair. No, I don’t mind at all.”

Persephone found herself feeling slightly bad for him.

He probably had put a lot of thought into it…

“River!” he snapped at the young woman who still wore an embellished cage over her face. Her hair, however, had changed from pink to lilac. “Tidy up that mess at once! I want a pixie cut, longer on the top and at the front, and I want it returned to its former glorious colour.”

“Shall we reconvene to your bathroom, Persephone?”

“Ok,” Persephone sighed in response to Rivers surprisingly polite suggestion, leading her through to the bathroom. Gala and Bane followed, all three of the Capitolites tutting when they saw the remains of her hair still abandoned on the floor of her bedroom, and with the shock of what had happened slowly beginning to wear off she was able to pull on her mask, offering them an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was just about to tidy that up when you arrived.”

“I’ll see to it,” Bane offered. “Gala can do the assessment to see if you need any body work.”

And so, even though she’d only just gotten dressed, she obediently stripped naked when ordered and sat on a stool that River produced seemingly from nowhere, holding herself perfectly still as her hair was quickly styled. Gala tutted loudly from where she was stood,

“You need to tell your lovers to be more gentle with you. We’ll need to cover those scratches and bruises before Batiatus sees you or he’s likely to have a heart attack.”

Shame, thick and heavy in her stomach, caused her cheeks to burn.

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed,” Gala hurried to reassure her, reaching out to pat her wrist. “Victors are known for having passionate relationships. It’s in the blood, you see.”

No.

No, it wasn’t _in the blood._

It was because they couldn’t say no.

She knew better than to say anything like that out loud, even though she’d only just learned the truth for herself and her mind was still reeling, and instead offered them a tight smile.

Her hair was cut, dyed, dried and styled in next to no time.

“ _There’s_ our Victor,” River cried once she was done, nodding to the mirror. “Much better.”

It was only her well-trained manners that saved her in that moment.

Instead of pointing out that the stranger was back in her mirror what she actually said was,

“Thank you. I was trying to create something like that but couldn’t get it quite right.”

She hadn’t been, of course.

That was a lie.

But it made River smile and leave her alone so what did it matter?

They dealt with her scratches and bruises, using the same creams as they had in the hospital following her games, and they vanished before her eyes. Gala was extremely happy to learn that she had maintained a “suitable level of personal hygiene” as some Victors apparently still struggled to do so years after their Games, falling back on their “bad District habits.”

This meant that in seemingly no time at all she was being dressed and presented to Batiatus for the stylist to work his magic, tweaking the outfit he’d chosen and applying her makeup.

He’d chosen a playsuit for her, something that was more suitable for summer than winter, and of course it was a shade of purple. The shorts incorporated into the playsuit were wide, giving the illusion that it was actually a dress, and reached halfway down her thighs. As for the top half, well, there wasn’t a back. It was completely open, showing off her unblemished skin, whilst the front was designed as a halter-neck with a plunging neckline. To ensure that the fabric, a blend of silk and satin, didn’t slip at all and expose her breasts they secured a thick black leather belt around her waist, cinching it a fraction tighter than she’d have liked. 

Her legs were encases in a pair of thick violet coloured tights, matching the nail varnish the quickly applied to her fingertips and the heavy bracelet they gave her. Her shoes, a pair of unbearably high stiletto heeled ankle boots, were the same bright purple as the playsuit.

“Yes…” Batiatus murmured approvingly as he stepped into the now immaculate bedroom, Bane having gone so far as to remake her bed and put everything to rights. “Twirl for me.”

She did so, slowly, careful not to unbalance herself.

“Actually, I rather like your hair like that,” he admitted, tapping his finger against his lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps it won’t be such a disaster after all. Now, I thought we’d keep you makeup relatively simple for the pre-tour interview and save the fun stuff for the visits.”

Persephone hummed in approval.

Simple sounded good to her.

Whether or not his idea of simple would match hers waited to be seen…

He began with a thin layer of foundation, then applied a colour correcting concealer to any areas of redness that showed through and finished with a covering of translucent powder.

Her eyebrows her filled in and styled in a delicate arch, thankfully choosing not to pluck any of them as she had kept on top of it herself, whilst her lips were covered in a light pink tint.

“It looks more natural than lipstick,” he explained to her. “I’ll add some gloss later.”

Most of his time, however, was spent on her eyes.

First they were lined with a black kohl eyeliner.

Then a dark purple.

Then a lighter purple.

And then they were blended, reapplied and blended again.

Finally he applied a liberal coating of jet black mascara to her upper and bottom lashes.

“There,” he pronounced, leaning back with a flourish. “What do you think?”

As far as makeup went it wasn’t too bad, certainly not what she would call simple but at the same time nowhere near as bold and. extravagant as her Tribute Parade makeup had been.

“It’s lovely,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

The camera crew had already arrived by the time she emerged from her bedroom ready to go, finding them with her parents who had also changed into something more suitable.

It was surprisingly easy to give the performance required of her; perching on the sofa in a faux-casual manner, greeting Caesar when the time came, gushing about how excited she was about the Tour and then, finally, saying goodbye to her parents as she left the house.

They didn’t actually leave then, that was just for the cameras.

There was in fact an awkward half-an-hour spent with her parents as the Capitolites packed away all of their gear before they were finally ready to make their way to the train station.

Gloss and Cashmere, dressed in suitably smart clothing, were there to meet her.

“…what’s with the hair?”

“Don’t ask me,” Batiatus muttered in response to Cashmeres question, brushing past her Mentors so that he could board the train first. “She did it herself. Well, she was the one to hack it off. We tidied it up, made it presentable to the point where I actually quite like it.”

“Care to explain?”

Persephone shot the older Victor a look as they boarded the train themselves.

“I didn’t want any of my future clients pulling on it,” she all but hissed, her subconscious mind supplying one of the many reasons she had chopped it all off. “So I got rid of it all.”

“You know.”

It wasn’t a question, more a resigned statement as the three of them settled into the same seats as they had taken during Persephone’s first trip to the Capitol back when she thought that she had only a few days to live, Arcturus seeming the more likely to emerge victorious.

“Yes,” she responded, her voice clipped. They were alone for the moment, save for the Avox who was stood ready to serve. “President Snow informed me when he visited this morning.”

“Snow was here?”

“Yes,” Persephone confirmed for Gloss. “He came to offer me his Patronage.”

Here she held up her right hand, allowing the stunned pair to see the rose shaped ring.

“…President Snow is your…Patron…?”

“Yes.”

Judging by their shocked expressions they knew exactly what that would entail for her.

“…are you alright?”

Cashmeres soft question, filled with genuine concern, caught her by surprise.

“No,” she responded, equally as softly. “Not really…”

The train lurched, pulling away from the station and picking up speed almost immediately and the sudden motion caused the tears that had been welling up in her eyes all of a sudden to begin falling down her cheeks, leaving a trail of purple and black eyeliner on their wake.

There was no stopping them then, not after they’d been spilled.

“Come on,” Gloss announced suddenly, jumping to his feet. “Let’s get you settled in.”

Before she realised what was happening the siblings had pulled her up from her seat and were leading her to her assigned bedroom, all but dragging her inside and locking the door.

And the, to her shock, she was encased in a tight hug between the two of them.

“Let it out, it helps,” Cashmere murmured in her ear. “We’re here.”

The sobs she’d been fighting since she’d been…since…

They overtook her in an instant, becoming something akin to howls as a cup gentle hand on the back of her head encouraged her to press her face into a firm chest, smearing her ruined makeup all over his shirt. Neither Gloss or Cashmere tried to quieten her, merely held her between them, their bodies flush with hers, until finally her tears came to a sudden finish.

“M’sorry…”

“Don’t apologise,” Gloss ordered her softly. “We’ve all been where you are, in a way.”

“President Snow told me that…”

“We do whatever we’re told to with whoever purchases our time to keep our families safe,” Cashmere explained simply, her lips so close they brushed against the shell of her ear. “And  we support each other, all of the Victors on the circuit, when we need a moment to grieve.”

“You are not in this alone, Persephone,” Gloss reassured her. “We’re in this together.”

They ended up staying the night with her, holding her as she struggled to sleep through the nightmares of Snows visit, as the train moved almost silently through the night. When she could sleep no longer they talked, giving her advice on what to do, on how to cope and sharing stories of their own experiences as Victors. After a while, though, she needed a change of subject or else she’d never stop feeling sick and so asked about the Victory Tour.

“How does it work? Will we visit the District in order?”

“No, that wouldn’t be practical due to the layout of the railway lines,” Gloss answered, taking hold of her hand and using his fingertips to draw two circles on her palm. “District One is located on the _Inner Circular Line_ which loops through Districts Nine, Three, Eight and Two although between Eight and Two the line merges briefly with the _Outer Circular Line._ There are _Link Lines_ in Districts Nine, Eight, Eleven and Five as well as a direct link between One and Capitol which is the route we normally use. The _Outer Circular Line_ isn’t actually a loop anymore, not since everything District Thirteen, and stops in Districts Six and Twelve.”

“…you know a lot about this, don’t you?”

Something like the beginning of a smile appeared on her face as Gloss flushed.

“My brother has always loved trains, ever since he was a little boy,” Cashmere confessed on his behalf. “He even has a colourised map of Panem’s railway system on his wall at home.”

“Really?”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” he muttered at length. “Mine is trains.”

“So what order will we be visiting the Districts in?”

“It changes every year, depending on where the new Victor comes from, but for you the order shall be Twelve, Eleven, Ten, Five, Four, Seven, Nine, Six, Three, Eight, Two and then Capitol. We’ll skip District One entirely until it’s time for us to head home after the Tour.”

Persephone nodded, slightly overwhelmed by his simple answer.

“So we’re starting with District Twelve?”

“Yes.”

District Twelve was, in the end, exactly like she’d expected it to be but at the same time entirely different. Everyone knew that District Twelve was small, poor and full on miners.

She was therefore unsurprised by the layer of coal dust covering everything in sight, even the trees which seemed to completely surround the inhabited part of the District and the people who had gathered at the train station to welcome her deposits their obvious efforts to wash it out of their clothes and off of their skin. It was the people of District Twelve that had surprised her the most as she’d been led to the Justice Building where the stage had been set up for her to address the District from. There were two groups, it seemed, the fair haired people who lived and worked in the town and the dark haired, olive skinned people who worked down the mine. The difference was so stark it was a little bit unsettling for her.

Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve’s only living Victor, was waiting for her on the stage.

He said nothing, merely looked her up and down.

Despite it being winter Batiatus had dressed her, once again, in shorts. This time they were made of lilac colour lace over a layer of thin cotton and were cinched in about her wait by a thin leather belt. Her legs appeared to be completely bare but were in fact encased in skin coloured tights. She wore a white blouse with the top three buttons undone to reveal her cleavage, a mid-tone purple jacket with three-quarter length sleeves and a loose violet scarf. Her shoes were boots once again, this time with a chunky wedge heel rather than a stiletto.

Persephone allowed herself to be led over to the microphone by the Districts Mayor.

The cameras, she knew, had been rolling since the moment she’d stepped off of the train and so she kept her smile firmly in place even as her stomach rolled upon seeing the faces of the young Tributes from District Twelve on the large screens at the back of the crowd, their surviving family members gathered together on a small stage in front of the large screens.

“It is my pleasure to introduce the Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, Persephone Waters.”

A smattering of applause, mostly from the Capitol’s present, followed his introduction.

“Good Morning, District Twelve, and thank you for having me,” Persephone murmured politely into the microphone, offering the crowd of people a perfect smile. “And thank you, Mayor Undersee for that lovely introduction. It is an absolute pleasure for me to be here today as we come together not only to celebrate my victory, but to remember your brave Tributes, Jocelyn Salina and Rowan Weiss, who represented your District with honour.”

This wasn’t true, of course.

Rowan had the unfortunate distinction of being the first to die that year.

His neck had been snapped by her own district partner, Arcturus.

Jocelyn had lasted to the end of the bloodbath before being killed by the Careers.

She was to stick to the speech Titus had prepared for her, however, and so she spoke the u true words a smile for her audience. Gloss and Cashmere had warned her against going off script at all as President Snow would have been the one to sign off on the final version.

“Their families should take great pride in knowing that they shall never be forgotten.”

How she managed to keep herself from choking on that line she’d never know.

“Standing before you I am filled with pride to think that in this moment we are united by our service to the glory and the power of the Capitol,” she continued brightly, aware of the way the crowd was trying not to show their discomfort at her words. Clasping her hands before her she finished her short speech with a passionate rendition of the saying she had heard many Victors use during previous tours, “Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

The Capitolites, including the camera crew, applauded wildly.

The crowd, on the other hand, barely clapped twice before falling silent.

Persephone couldn’t blame them.

“Well done,” Gloss murmured as she turned to join the three other Victors at the back of the stage, allowing the Mayor to return to the microphone in order to dismiss his people. They went quickly, scurrying away from the ever present Peacekeepers. “You did well.”

“Indeed,” Haymitch Abernathy added. “Almost had me believing you meant it, sweetheart.”

“But of course I meant it, Mr Abernathy,” she responded brightly, crafting her expression into an image of doe-eyed innocence. “I am but a humble voice of the Capitol, after all.”

She managed to hold out for long enough for Haymitch’s smile to drop before giggling.

“Either that or I’m a better actress than I thought,” she added, extending her hand to him. After a long moment he finally shook it gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Abernathy.”

“You’ve got a good one here,” he commented, directing it towards Gloss and Cashmere. “And it’s Haymitch, not Mr Abernathy. Makes me sound like I’m one-hundred-and-two.”

“Then you must call me Percy, or Persephone, I suppose, depending on the situation.”

“Percy,” he repeated, testing the name, before offering her a hip flask. “Drink?”

Even from a distance the strength of whatever was inside the flask made her eyes water.

“No, thank you,” she responded. “I’m not one for strong liquor.”

Haymitch’s smirk was bitter this time.

“Give it a couple of years, sweetheart, and you’ll be just as bad as the rest of us…”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But for now I shall decline.”

“We have forty-five minutes before the train departs,” Titus announced, striding up to the group of Victors with a pleased smile on his face. In his hand was his tablet showing their schedule. “You are permitted to visit with the Districts Victors… _Victor_ or return to the train.”

Persephone turned to look at Haymitch.

“Don’t look at me, my house is a state and all I’ve got to drink is more of this stuff,” he was quick to announced, shaking the hip flask at her. “Hell, I’d join you on that train if I could.”

“No, you wouldn’t…”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Haymitch conceded to Gloss’ counter. “But still…”

“I would love a tour of your District, Haymitch,” Persephone interjected, surprising everyone although Haymitch was the only one to gaze open-mouthed at her in shock. “Shall we?”

She offered him her arm which, unsurprisingly, he simply stared at.

“Er…”

“Good, that’s settled them,” she announced, slipping her arm through his and urging him towards the steps leading down off of the stage. The camera crew, who had been chatting amongst one another, perked up and started filming her again. “Where should we start?”

“…well, here’s as good a place as any,” Haymitch muttered, shooting a confused look at Cashmere and Gloss who had followed them down the steps. The siblings just shrugged, taken as much by surprise as he was. Most new Victors didn’t want to set foot in any of the other Districts, preferring to return immediately to the train so this was unprecedented. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about the Justice Building, they’re the same everywhere.”

“Ours is a little bit more in keeping with our Districts aesthetic, actually,” she informed him conversationally. “Blending with the rest of the architecture. Yours is a bit of a monstrosity.”

“That a fancy word to say it’s ugly?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she admitted. “Concrete blocks aren’t exactly nice to look at, are they?”

“No, but they’re sturdy so it’ll never fall down so there is that.”

“…buildings _fall down_ in District Twelve?”

Her surprise was genuine.

“Out in the Seam where they’re made of wood, sure. Not in town, though.”

“The Seam?” Persephone repeated. “What’s that?”

“You wanted a tour, didn’t you?” Haymitch snorted. “Then just wait and see...”

District Twelve, as it turned out was split into four main areas.

The Justice Building and the train station were located in the merchant section, home of the fair haired half of the population, and as the name suggested it was where those who had any form of employment that was going down the mines lived and worked. A lot of people, she noted, lived in flats above their shops like the butcher and the baker, although there were rows of houses leading off of the main square. Reading between the lines she deduced that to be a merchant in District Twelve was to be a step up from the Seams occupants.

They also, she noticed as they all stared at her in shock, all seemed to have blue eyes.

The Hob was located between the merchant part of District Twelve and Seam.

Haymitch refused to take them inside, not with the camera crew fluttering around them like a family of butterflies, but whispered in her ear that it was the Districts black market. For the rest, including the cameras, he explained it simply as a place for people to trade goods.

They reached the Seam next and Persephone had not been prepared for what she found.

It was, for lack of a better phrase, a slum.

The people who lived in the tumbledown wooden huts were miners, Haymitch explained, when someone commented how quiet it was, so they were far beneath their feet. But even the. Those that remained, the miners families, were almost painfully quiet and far too thin.

Persephone had never known hunger, not even in the Arena.

Not really.

These people had and did, seeming to survive on nothing at all.

There wasn’t even a constant supply of electricity!

“Most of our Tributes come from the Seam,” Haymitch explained after taking a large swig from his hip-flask. “More kids per family, you see, and more slips per kid due to tesserae.”

No wonder their Tributes never survived long…

The fourth and final section of the District was the Victors Village which, unlike in District One, was a sad place to be. It was a gated area filled with enormous buildings, mansions suitable for a Victor to live in, but only one seemed to have been lived in at all. Haymitch’s.

“That was Lorens,” Haymitch announced, leading them up the front steps of his house, gesturing with his thumb to the building opposite him. “But she passed when I was a kid.”

Loren Holt, she recalled from her history lessons, had been the Victor of the 4th Hunger Games, back when the Arenas been a simpler affair than the kind of one she’d been in.

“Wait, so who was your Mentor?”

“I didn’t have one,” he explained with a shrug, leading them inside his messy house. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said it was in a bit of a state. “Just my assigned Escort.”

“But, weren’t there four of you that year?”

“Yup,” Haymitch grunted, dropping into a well-worn chair. “So, what do you think?”

“I think you need to hire a housekeeper before your belongings grow legs and run away from you,” she replied honestly, causing Gloss and Cashmere to choke in a surprisingly uncontrolled reaction, nothing like their own careful masks, and Haymitch to do a literal double take before letting out a deep belly laugh. “Other than that it’s been a lovely day.”

Had the cameras not still be present she might have been a bit more honest.

As it was she had to mind what she said in case President Snow saw the footage.

Wait, who was she kidding…she had to be careful so that _when_ President Snow saw the footage he would be pleased with her performance and wouldn’t take it out on her family.

There was no way he wouldn’t see everything they recorded…

“You know what I like you, Percy,” Haymitch announced. “Even if you are from One.”

“I like you too, Haymitch, even though you have no idea about personal hygiene.”

This brought forth another deep belly-laugh.

“We should probably think about heading back to the train,” Gloss murmured, showing his sister the time on his wristwatch. Cashmere nodded. “It was good to see you, Haymitch.”

“You too,” Haymitch responded. “Look after this one; she’s special.”

“We will.”

They said their goodbyes and, leaving Haymitch drinking in the comfort of his own home, retraced their steps back to the station and boarded the train with five minutes to spare.

“I’m going to change into something a little bit comfier,” Persephone informed her Mentors as they entered the trains sitting room, all of them pausing as the train lurched as it pulled out of the station. Her eyes moved to the window just in time to see them pass through the fence that seemed to surround the inhabited portion of District Twelve, cutting the people off from the resources of the forest and creating a second no-mans-land between the town and the official no-mans-land that existed between the different Districts. “See you in a bit.”

Entering her assigned bedroom on the train she made short work of stripping off the outfit Batiatus had chosen for her, sighing with relief as she took of the uncomfortable shoes and tight belt. She could have put anything on but, deciding that she wanted to be comfortable more than anything, she pulled on the pyjamas which had been waiting for her on the train.

They were ridiculously soft and warm.

 

If only they weren’t purple…

Pulling on her dressing down and slipped over the top she re-joined her Mentors who had also taken the time to change into something a little bit more comfortable. After having a bite to eat in the dining car the three Victors moved to the rear of the train to what was commonly known as the observation room. It was dominated by a large window through which they watched the world passing them by, Gloss and Cashmere pointing out a couple of interesting land features, including the second fence which took them into no-mans-land.

“We’ll be spending the night at a refuelling station between Districts Twelve and Eleven,” Gloss explained moments before the train began to slow, the speed decreasing so suddenly that Persephone almost spilt her cup of tea all over her lap. The sun had set an hour or so earlier and, rather unnervingly, they were surrounded by nothing. “The train will be locked so don’t worry, we’ll be perfectly safe, and then tomorrow we’ll spend the night in Eleven.”

“Oh,” Persephone mumbled. “I see.”

She ended up going to Cashmere in the small hours of the morning, woken by a nightmare about President Snow hunting her through the train, and her Mentor held her throughout the rest of the night, neither of them getting any more sleep. Instead they talked about the realities of their situation, Cashmere giving the younger woman some much needed advice.

Gloss joined them an hour or so before breakfast, a few minutes before the train started moving again taking them into District Eleven which was vastly different to District Twelve.

The land outside the trains windows were covered with orchards, fields and…

“…are those _cows_?”

Gloss nodded, amused by the wonder in her voice.

“They’ll be dairy cows,” he answered. “They don’t slaughter livestock in District Eleven.”

“I’ve never seen a cow before,” Persephone breathed in wonder. “Not a real one, anyway.”

Her outfit District Eleven was just as inappropriate for the cold weather as the others.

It was another playsuit, made of the softest satin she’d ever felt, and a high neckline that went from one shoulder to another, creating the illusion of a long strip through which her head, neck and a small portion of her shoulders protruded. Around her waist the fabric had been bunched up into a ruffle, almost making it look like a piece of elastic, and of course to make her waist seem even smaller there was a belt. Everything was exactly the same shade of purple as her hair this time including her thick tights and the satin pointed-toe-pumps.

Unlike with District Twelve she wasn’t led straight out onto the stage, rather into the Justice Building itself where they had to wait for the crowd to be properly assembled in the square.

“District Eleven is run differently to Twelve,” Gloss murmured as they waited for the doors to be opened for the three of them. “Don’t be surprised by the number of Peacekeepers.”

She barely had time to nod before they heard her introduction begin outside,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games; Persephone Waters!”

The doors swung open and without prompting Persephone stepped forwards, her Mentors following her out of the building but hanging back as she approached the lone microphone.

Her speech was almost exactly the same as the one she had given in District Twelve.

The main difference, the obvious difference really, were the names of the Tributes and the memories that her mind conjured up about them. Grace Ayala had died in the bloodbath, killed by Zoya Kane, and Cadmar Parsons…well she owed Cadmar Parsons a great deal. He was the brave Tribute who had inadvertently drawn the Careers away from the Cornucopia when she herself had raided the supplies. He had died for his troubles whilst she had lived.

“Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

As soon as the last words of her speech had passed from her lips a horn sounded, causing her to jump, and at one the people gathered to listen to her turned to leave the square.

And as they did so the Peacekeepers who had been lining the square followed after them.

“You’re a very well-spoken young lady,” an unfamiliar voice, richer than any she had ever heard, commented as she turned slowly from the unusual sight before her and found the Districts three surviving Victors stood alongside Cashmere and Gloss. It was Margot, Victor of the 25th Hunger Games who had addressed her. “And well presented. You’ll do well.”

“So I’m told,” she responded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, I think the pleasure is ours,” Seeder, who’s olive toned skin set her apart from her fellow Victors from District Eleven who’s skin was much darker, murmured sincerely. She had won her Games not by killing her fellow Tributes but by outliving them after the food ran out and no more sponsors gifts were permitted. “I was very impressed by you actions.”

“…my actions?”

“Surviving against the odds,” Seeder explained with a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat Persephone’s shoulder. “Doing what had to be done but not allowing yourself to become a monster like some wound have. There have been many kind souls corrupted by the Games.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Chaff, the youngest of the three Victors, muttered. He had in his hand an identical hip flask to that which Haymitch had used the day before. Even though he was the youngest he was in his late forties having won the 45th Hunger Games. “To the Games.”

Having spoken his toast he drunk from the flask, grimacing at the taste.

He only had one hand and used his stump to wipe the liquid from his lips.

“Will you be taking a tour of District Eleven, Miss Waters?” Titus enquired sharply as he hurried over to the join the group of Victors. “Or would you like to return to the train?”

“I think it best if we return to the train today,” Gloss interjected before she could begin to form an opinion of her own. His eyes, she noticed with a slight frown, snapped to one of the remaining Peacekeepers and back. “Perhaps the three of you would like to join us for a bit?”

“No, we’d best be getting on,” Seeder countered with a gentle smile, reaching out to shake Persephone’s hand. Her grip was strong, her skin calloused and hard. And yet it was a nice handshake, comforting. “It was nice to meet you, Persephone. You take care of yourself.”

“It was nice to meet you, too.”

Margot, rather than shake her hand, gave her a gentle hug.

“Keep your chin up,” she murmured in her ear. “Life as a Victor is full of hardships.”

She knew.

She had to know.

About what she had become.

About what she was going to become.

“And yet it can be full of blessings, also,” she continued, pulling back with a gentle smile. Her hands rested briefly on Persephone’s shoulders before she was released. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Margot,” Persephone managed to choke out. “It was lovely to meet you.”

Chaff went in for a hug as well, his strong arms wrapping around her so tightly and enthusiastically that she was lifted up off of the ground for a brief moment. He was chuckling when he released her a moment later, winking across at Gloss and Titus.

“Don’t hold it against me,” he pleaded cheerfully. “She’s just so…adorable…”

“I’m not sure I like being called _adorable_ now that I’m a Victor,” Persephone mused, smiling as Seeder reached out to smack Chaff on his arm. “Seems a bit…childish, don’t you think?”

“So says the seventeen year old…”

“Eighteen,” Persephone corrected him. “My birthday was a little over a month ago.”

Chaff received another smack to his arm, this time from Margot.

“Say goodbye nicely, young man, or I’ll remind you why people fear my tempter.”

A kiss, tainted with the bitter taste of the strong alcohol that he’d drunk, was placed on her lips so suddenly that no one had seen it coming, not even those who knew him the best, and therefore no one was surprised when she let out a startled cry and flinched away from him.

“See you around, Miss Waters.”

“I…yes…maybe…” she mumbled, her mind spinning. The cameras were still rolling, capturing every moment of her Victory Tour. Would Snow hold the kiss against her? “Goodbye, Chaff.”

Turning away from the group Persephone hurried back inside the Justice Building, flinching away from an armed Peacekeeper who stepped out of nowhere to accompany her through the unfamiliar hallways until she reached the truck that was waiting to transport them back to the train. It had been an entirely new experience for her to ride in the back of a truck the first time, when they had brought them from the train station, and not an enjoyable one.

The jerky motion of the vehicle had made her feel rather queasy.

A hand was offered to her, covered in an easily recognisable black glove, and she accepted the help to climb back inside the truck with a murmur of thanks, quickly dropping down into the same seat as before. The Peacekeeper followed her inside, sitting opposite her. He was young and surprisingly handsome, she noticed, and had wide shoulders which suited the armour they always wore. His legs were also surprisingly muscular, the white trousers and knee high boots he wore as part of his uniform contouring to the shape of his legs, although it was nothing compared to some of her friends from the _Academy of the Arts_ back in One.

Some of the male dancers had thighs that were thicker than her waist.

Cashmere, Gloss and Titus arrived at the truck a few moments later.

The camera crew had been given their own vehicle to travel in.

“I must apologise for Chaff,” Gloss opened with once they were all settled with their Peacekeeper escorts sitting opposite them. Theirs were older, she noticed, sterner. “I probably should have warned you that he can be a bit overfamiliar with new Victors.”

“You don’t say…” Persephone muttered dryly. “Does he kiss all of them or am I special?”

“…I think he’s kissed all of them at one point or another…”

“Including you?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Gloss chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wasn’t during my Victory Tour though, thankfully. No, it was when I became a Mentor for the first time.”

“Mine was during my Victory Tour,” Cashmere confessed. “He means no harm, though.”

Titus tutted loudly with obvious disapproval.

The next few days slipped into a routine, of sorts; they’d spend the night on the train, either in the space between Districts or parked at a Districts train station, and during the night she would go to one of her Mentors after her nightmares woke her, slipping into their rooms and joining them in their beds when the offer was subsequently made by lifting the sheets.

They’d talk, sometimes about the Games, sometimes about the future, but more frequently as the days passed by about anything _but_ the Hunger Games and all that they entailed.

Gloss told her more about his _mild_ obsession with trains.

Cashmere confessed to having something of a passion for knitting, finding the simple motions to be pleasantly therapeutic. She was good at it, too, although no one knew.

And, of course, Persephone spoke of dancing.

Of her love of ballet.

And it helped.

They would breakfast together still in their pyjamas and afterwards Persephone would be whisked away by Batiatus, her stylist insisting on seeing to all of her fashion needs himself.

Her prep team didn’t complain; they were enjoying their time off together.

In terms of her speeches they remained pretty much the same.

It was the reactions that differed.

In District Ten, which like District Eleven was made up of wide, open field although this time they were filled with more livestock animals that she could have possibly imagined, it was something of a shock to find herself being largely ignored by everyone but Hugh Ryall and Lorna Drew, Victors of the 33rd and 28th Hunger Games respectively. It was a source of embarrassment, according to the Capitol, anyway, that District Ten hadn’t had a Victor in almost forty years. Not since Angus Armstrong has won the 34th Hunger Games, dying only five years later according the history books of “complications” from injuries he’d received.

Even the families of their fallen Tributes, little Pamelyn Lowe who had sobbed for her mother as Arcturus had killed her and Ulrik Nunez, a surprising favourite, who hadn’t survived past the opening moments of the bloodbath, barely seemed to listen to her.

“Don’t take it personally,” Hugh had advised her once her speech had concluded and the people of District Ten began to leave the square. “It is difficult for people in our District to feel anything regarding the Games when our reputation is worse than every other District.”

“You must be freezing,” Lorna had murmured, her voice filled with genuine concern as she began unbuttoning her own coat. “What we’re they thinking? Take this before you freeze.”

And so Persephone had found herself wrapped in the plump Victors coat, still warm, and it was absolutely wonderful as despite the fact that she had finally been permitted to wear trousers they had been paired with a vest top, a loose cotton cardigan and heeled sandals.

There hadn’t been a tour of District Ten simply because it was far too large to get around in the time that they had available, the people who reared the livestock to keep the Capitol supplied with all the meat they could want living in small communities spread throughout the entire District, only coming into the main town on special occasions such as the Victory Tour. Instead they were invited back to Lorna’s for a hot drink and a slice of delicious cake.

In District Five, home of the countries power stations, she received rapturous applause as soon as she’d stepped foot on the stage in her outfit of the day; a “swing dress” made of a pleasantly thick chequered fabric, violet and purple, with a separate underskirt made of layers of purple netting to puff up the dresses skirt. It was sleeveless, unfortunately, and her shoes were open-toed stilettos so despite the thick fabric she still had to hold back shivers.

She had known that District Five was considered a wealthy District, the statistics were public record if you were curious enough to look, and it showed in the health of the audience who stood and listened to her speech, actually cheering as she brought up their fallen Tributes, Nadya Wainwright and Warren Kingston, who has both fallen during the initial bloodbath.

Their families, stood upon the raised platforms, looked emotional but not heartbroken.

A grand tour of the heart of the District had been pre-arranged by Amethyst Jones, the senior Victor of District a Five having won the 35th Hunger Games, during which she was shown around Coriolanus 9, a solar power plant named after President Snow, along with a couple of older power stations which were in the process of being refitted to increase the energy outputs by another 50%. They even apologised for not being able to show her the hydroelectric dam, a source of great pride for the District, but it was too far away to visit.

Bluebell Figueroa, Victor of the 61st Hunger Games, was a beautiful woman a little over ten years her senior who Cashmere had later confirm was also one of the Victors forced into prostitution by President Snow. It explained the fact that of the four surviving Victors she had seemed the least enthused about the Capitol and how important District Five was to their continued success. Mason Black and Jayson Turner, Victors of the 46th and 42nd were similar in age to Chaff and Haymitch but had obviously taken a lot more care of themselves.

They too had once been “popular” in the Capitol but were now retired from everything but their Mentoring duties and the occasional special occasion with one of their former clients.

It has been both an interesting experience and an unpleasant one.

There was an air of begrudging respect from the people District Four, the first “Career” District she had visited on her Victory Tour and the first place where she had played an active part in the death of one of their Tributes. A young girl, dressed in what was quite probably her best dress, had greeted her as she stepped out of the Justice Building with a posey of winter flowers and her ingrained manners had dictated that she interrupt the schedule to pause and speak to the little girl, crouching down in front of her so they could meet each other’s eyes. Her name was Claudia, she’d learned, and at eleven she was the oldest girl in her class at school high was why she had been chosen to be the flower girl.

“You were my favourite this year,” she’d gushed enthusiastically. “So I’m glad you won.”

“Thank you, Claudia.”

A throat had cleared loudly behind her, prompting her to bid farewell to the wide eyed girl by gifting her one of the bangles she’d been given to wear with her outfit of the day and make her way over to the microphone waiting for her. Personally she couldn’t understand what Batiatus had been thinking when he’d put this particular outfit together. The others had at least made sense even if they weren’t winter appropriate. For District Four she’d been dressed in a long sleeved top with horizontal stripes, a leopard print knee length skirt, knee high socks and lace up heeled boots. She felt as though she’d been dressed by a child.

Her speech had gone well until she’d named their fallen Tributes.

Zoya Kane, who had been killed by Cadmar as Persephone had watched from the shadows, and Colm Lightfoot who had fallen to his death after Persephone had used the rope bridge as a weapon. It was then that she’d made the mistake of meeting the eyes of Colms mother.

“Mr Lightfoot. Mrs Lightfoot,” she had broken from the script before even realising what she was doing, her voice trembling. “I...I really am sorry for your loss. Truly. I'm so sorry.”

The warning she had received about deviating from the script rang in the back of her mind as she finished off her speech, smiling politely as applause that followed her closing words.

“Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

Due to the fact that they would be spending the night in District Four they were given as much time as they wanted to explore the successful District who could boast a total of ten Victors since the Hungers Games inception, place them joint top with District Two. Unlike District Two who had training sessions for Career Tributes, just like in District One, which were technically illegal but were allowed to continue as long as they served the glory of the Capitol, District Four had such a high number of Victors due to the fact that it’s citizens began learning their trade from an early age, giving them useful skills inside the Arenas.

“Persephone, are you alright?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet Cashmeres concerned gaze.

“I broke from the script,” she blurted out, her panic obvious. “What if…?”

“You didn’t say anything untoward so I’m sure no one will mind,” her Mentor reassured her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. No one, in this case, referred to President Snow. “Now, I believe that Finnick and the others are looking forward to meeting you so let’s join them.”

Finnick Odair, the handsome Victor of the 65th Hunger Games who she now realised was a better actor than she could ever hope to be, hiding the fact that he had been forced into prostitution behind a charming smile, witty banter, seductive smiles and a confident air.

If possible he was even more handsome in person.

More importantly, though, this close she could see the pain hidden in his eyes.

“I imagine that you and I will be working together at some point in the near distant future, Miss Waters,” he opened with as Cashmere brought her over to the group of richly tanned individuals, theirs outdoor lifestyle evident in their skin tone and sun bleached hair. Finnick’s was a beautiful bronze colour whilst the two young women with him were redheads, both with natural highlights. His words took her by surprise, speaking so openly about what their future held but at the same time managing to be discreet. “It would probably be a good idea for us to get to know each other beforehand. You must be tired of the train. Why don’t…?”

“I don’t want to sleep with you!”

The words tumbled out of her mouth without her permission, cutting him off.

Her cheeks burned as stunned silence fell for a moment before Finnick snorted loudly.

“Good, because that’s not what I was offering,” he announced as the rest of their group bar one chuckled and shook their heads. “I was going to say you and your Mentors could join us for dinner this evening and, if need be, crash in one of the many guest rooms we possess.”

Here he gestured around at his fellow Victors.

“Oh,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I just thought you meant…”

“I know what you thought,” Finnick interrupted her, resigned. “But you were wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Persephone murmured again. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t,” he brushed it off. “But I think we should probably stick to friends for now.”

“Friends?”

“This life of ours is much easier to her if you've got friends who can understand what you're going through,” he explained. “Trust me, I know this from a vast amount of experience."

Gloss hummed in agreement.

“Now, time for some introductions. Miss Waters, may I…”

“If we’re going to become friends you should probably begin by calling me Persephone, at least,” she interrupted, smiling first at the smiling Victor and then at the others. “Or Percy.”

“Very well,” Finnick agreed. “ _Percy_ , may I introduce Mags Hudson?”

“It’s an honour.”

Rather than speaking Mags, the grey haired Victor of the 11th Hunger Games, made a series of complex hand gestures that left all three citizens of District One thoroughly confused.

“Mags had a stroke last year so she can’t talk properly anymore,” Finnick explained, his voice softening as he spoke of the woman who was probably his Mentor. “But that doesn’t stop her from speaking. For example she just said she hopes you enjoy your visit, Percy.”

“Oh,” Persephone smiled at the kind faced woman. “Thank you.”

Another hand gesture.

Another translation.

“You’re welcome.”

Sykes Rossi, Victor of the 51st Hunger Games stepped forward to shake her hand when he was introduced whilst Ilythia Richardson, Victor of the 55th merely nodded in her direction.

“And lastly this is Annie,” Finnick concluded, indicating the young woman who was stood frowning up at the clouds in the sky. “Annie? Annie? Why don’t you say hello to Percy?”

Jumping like a startled bird the attractive young woman turned to look at Finnick.

“Who?”

“Me,” Persephone spoke up softly, drawing the green eyes over to her as she approached the notoriously unstable Victor, her hand outstretched. “I’m Persephone Waters. Percy.”

“You’re the new Victor.”

“I am.”

“I’ve seen you naked.”

Chuckling softly Persephone commented,

“Most people have. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Annie.”

“Oh,” Annie gasped, her eyes falling to the extended hand in surprise before she finally moved to give it a quick, nervous shake with her own hand. “It’s a…it’s nice…your…I…”

A gnarled hand settled gently on Annie’s shoulder.

Mags.

Sucking in a deep lungful of air Annie finally succeeded in blurting out,

“Would you like to come for a walk on the beach?”

“I’d love to,” Persephone responded warmly, catching the way that all of the District a Four Victors let out a sigh of relief. She guessed most people were put off by the fact that Annie was unwell, mentally, or didn’t treat her as compassionately as she needed. “Thank you.”

It was a strange afternoon, Persephone reflected later on, most of which was spent on the beach at Annie’s request. Everyone had been surprised how easily Annie had taken to her, only having a couple of what they referred to as “episodes” all day when she seemed to become overwhelmed, most notably when Persephone had gone paddling with Finnick and she’d screamed like a banshee, covering her ears with her hands, until they’d come back.

The food, when they finally made their way to Mags house as she had announced that she would be the one hosting their dinner party, was completely different to what she was used to eating back in District One. Unsurprisingly there was a lot of fish on the menu, as well as something called lobster and crab, both of which were served still within their hard shells.

Persephone, despite being offered both, had declined to even try a piece.

They’d returned to the beach afterwards, Finnick and Sykes building a large bonfire that they all sat around and watched as the stars came out in the night sky. Annie seemed to surprise everyone by naming all of the constellations she could see for Percy’s benefit.

“I’ve never seen the stars so clearly,” she breathed, lying on her back on the towel Mags had brought out for her to use, gazing up at the sky in awe. “It’s so different to the sky in One.”

“Light pollution blocks out the stars,” Finnick explained simply from where he was lounging nearer the fire. The camera crew had given up hours ago and returned to the train for the night. “The more electric lights are on at night the fewer stars you’ll see. There’s hardly any visible at all in the Capitol where everything is brightly illuminated twenty-four hours a day.”

“The stars are what I miss most about District Four whenever I’m in the Capitol,” Ilythia confessed, speaking for the first time since they’d eaten. “That and the smell of the sea.”

As one the group inhaled deeply through their noses, taking in the salty smell of the sea.

Those from District Four then let out a pleased sigh.

Those from District One frowned, finding the smell strange and unusual.

But not unpleasant.

In the end she fell asleep there on the beach, her face tilted up towards the stars, and only awoke when Gloss picked her up as though she were a child and carried her up to the spare room in Mags’ opulent mansion, the entire building filled with love, laughter and memories.

Gloss slept in Finnick’s spare room.

Cashmere had initially begun the night in Ilythia’s spare bedroom but had woken from an unpleasant dream of her own and had sought out Persephone, waking her as her Mentor slipped into bed beside her. They didn’t talk much then, not like the previous nights on the train, as by some miracle both of them were able to return to sleep in the comfortable bed.

They joined the Victors of District Four for breakfast the following morning before saying their goodbyes, everyone reacting in surprise when Annie gave Persephone a quick hug before stumbling back to the beach, Finnick calling out a farewell to them as he follow her.

Returning to the train they quickly settled back into the routine.

They arrived in District Seven with little time to spare.

There were trees as far as the eye could see, different trees to those surrounding District Twelve, although there also seemed to be great stretches where only stumps remained.

This made sense given that District Seven was tasked with producing all the lumber and paper, which she learned only that day was made from trees, that the Capitol needed.

Batiatus had once again dressed her in trousers, this time putting them underneath a floral tunic which barely reached passed her bottom and had another high neckline. It was loose, looser than she had expected something designed by her stylist to be, and for the first time since she had been assigned to him she was given a pair of simple flat ballet pumps to wear.

Her speech was received indifferently, the audience barely reacting even when she spoke of their Tributes, of Hadley Gibson who had fought to the death with a level of skill her District were known for and Wade Marshal who hadn’t survived the initial bloodbath, and no one seemed to care when it came to an end, only in that they were allowed to leave the square.

“Well, aren’t you the perfect little puppet?”

Turning away from the microphone she found herself facing Johanna Mason, the previous year’s winner whose disappointing performance had been brought up by President Snow.

“No surprise, of course; your District is known for being the Capitol’s lap dogs after all.”

A frown marred Persephone’s face.

“I was always taught that if you don’t have something nice to say then you shouldn’t say anything at all,” she announced, meting the angry gaze of the woman who was she realised suddenly, only a few months older than her. “So, please, keep your thoughts to yourself.”

If looks could kill then Persephone would have died then and there.

It was strange; in District four she’d found herself thinking that she could one day consider her fellow Victors to be her friends but here she was already convinced they would never become anything more than reluctant acquaintances as, although they weren’t so blunt as Johanna, the rest of the District Seven Victors obviously shared her opinion of Persephone.

Summer Long and Phoebe Runner, Victors of the 58th and 43rd Hunger Games had looked down their long noses at her, towering over her as they did, whilst Blight Jacobs, Victor of the 47th Hunger Games, ignored her in favour of caring a piece of wood into a small horse.

There was no suggestion of a tour of the District this time.

“Don’t let them get you down,” Gloss reassured her as they boarded the train less that ten minutes after her speech had come to its anticlimactic end. “They’ve always been a prickly lot, the Victors from District Seven, but that Johanna is something else. Just ignore her.”

“Even though she’s right about my being the Capitols puppet?”

“Her problem is that she won’t admit to being just as much their puppet as you are,” he sighed, nodding the camera crew as they moved past them to begin editing the footage from the most recent visit in their private compartment. “Come on, let’s have a drink.”

“Hot chocolate for me, please.”

After the indifference of District Seven and the less than favourable meeting with its Victors the universal need to please in District Nine came as something of a shock, everyone doing their best to make certain that they knew they were welcome. Firstly there was a carpet of slightly faded red velvet which covered the dirty ground between the car which had picked them up from the train station to the rear entrance of the Justice Building which they were told was only brought out for special visitors such as themselves so as to protect their shoes.

Inside the Justice Building they were offered freshly brewed coffee and delicious cookies.

When the time came for her to step out on the stage Persephone found that the path she would tread had once again been covered by another strip of faded red velvet and that the microphone itself had been decorated with fresh flowers, a mixtures of purples and pinks.

Looking out at the audience gathered before her she was surprised that beyond them, past the single level buildings which seemed to be the norm for District Nine, were fields of grain for as far as the eye could see, disappearing into the horizon without a single break in sight.

It made her feel terribly small.

Her speech was listened to in absolute silence, no one even daring to breathe too loudly it seemed lest they risk interrupting her. It was only when she spoke of their fallen Tributes that any of them reacted at all and then it was only the families of those that she spoke of, the two groups standing in front of the large screens displaying the faces of their Tributes.

Each of them were holding a single flower in their right hand.

Serena Soto had outlasted her fellow Tribute but only by a few hours, her death coming at the hands of the Careers in the early hours of the morning on the second day of the Games whilst Raoul Fields had been killed during the bloodbath. As she had spoken their names a solitary sob had escaped on of their mother’s, quickly muffled by a plain white handkerchief.

Once her speech had drawn to a close she was surprised when, instead of dismissing the crowd as had happened in every other District thus far the families of the fallen Tributes were called forwards, each of them following the path that their family members had taken when they’d been Reaped until they reached the stage whereupon they presented her with the flowers they carried, one at a time, until she was left with a large posy of fresh blooms.

It left her feeling unexpectedly emotional, shocked by the unusual practice.

“…thank you…”

Each of them offered her a smile, some betraying the grief they were desperately trying to conceal through their damp eyes, and only once the two families had left the stage was the surprisingly polite order given for the people of District Nine to return to their daily tasks.

“I’d forgotten what you guys were like in Nine,” Gloss admitted, his smile bemused, as she joined the group of Victors who had been given chairs at the side of the stage. And not just any chairs, either, the kind that the dignitaries usually sat on during the Reaping Ceremony. Cashmere, she noticed, had also received a small post of flowers. “Always so generous and kind despite the fact that you have practically nothing. It’s a miracle any of you ever won.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Cissy Conway, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games, agreed with the broad smile that she was always shown wearing on the Capitol broadcasts. She’d won her Games by surviving the longest without food, the same way Seeder had forty-eight years before her. In her case, however, she had taken a life inside the Arena; that of the other Tribute to survive to the finale who had been too weak from hunger to fight back. “But we learned years ago that the best way to survive in this never-ending game of ours is to be what the Capitol want us to be. Therefore we treat those that are Reaped as fortunate individuals, honour their families, support them through their grief and welcome each new Victor as though they were the President himself. It keeps them happy which keeps us safe.”

Roman Fleetwater, Victor of the 17th Hunger Games, nodded in agreement before suddenly descending into a coughing fit, his entire body shaking violently. Cissy and Maybelle Wright, Victor of the 41st Hunger Games, were out of their chairs in an instant and crouching on either side of him, their hands gentle as they encouraged him to hunch over, Maybelle holding a clean white handkerchief over his mouth until the fit had finally passed at which point Cissy disappeared inside the Justice Building, returning a few moments later with a glass of water. Roman murmured his thanks, his voice hoarse, and accepted the cool drink.

Just as in District Five a tour had been organised in advance but was delayed by the fact that all of the Victors insisted that Roman go home and rest. He protested, not wanting to let any of them down, but mid-protest was seized by more coughing and was whisked away to his house before he could argue any further, Maybelle staying long enough to get him settled.

“He always gets a nasty cough in the winter,” Cissy explained as they waited for Maybelle to return, the cameras flitting around them like a swarm of bees. “He’ll be fine in a day or so.”

Persephone was shown around the Victors Village first, as they were already there, before returning to the town to visit each of the small shops. In each one she was given some sort of a gift even though the shopkeepers were by no means wealthy. Eventually one of them gave her a basket to put everything, including her flowers, in. It was old and much loved.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, my dear,” the shopkeeper murmured softly, his eyes sparkling with tears. “It was my Alice’s but she’s been dead three years now and I know she’d want you to have it.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” Persephone murmured sincerely, earning a somewhat unsteady smile in response. “And thank you for the basket. It’s lovely and I shall treasure it.”

After making their way through the town the visited the main office beside the Justice Building so that she could understand how things operated in District Nine. The manager was a pleasant man who happily talked her through everything, showing her where everything was on the large map which covered an entire wall of his office. Unlike every other District she had been to this far District Nine was bisected not once but twice by the railway, both the _Outer_ and _Inner Circular Lines_ passing through it, and there was also a precious _Link Line_ between the two. This split the District up into four distinct zones. The smallest zone contained the town and was bordered on three sides by the railway lines. To the north of the _Outer Circular Line_ the higher quality grain was grown. Between the two railways lines was where the rest of the grain was grown and was what she had been able to see from the stage, sprawling fields disappearing into the distance. And finally to the south of the _Inner Circular Line_ were the granaries, the factories and the storage sheds required for processing all of the grain that they grew. This area was not currently open to the public.

Even Gloss and Cashmere listened with rapt attention to his explanation.

It was so different to District One.

But that was the point, wasn’t it?

Every District had their own part to play in the grand scheme of things.

A group of children had been gathered to see them off when the time came, waving to them from the bottom of the steps until the car carrying them back to the train was out of sight.

Maybelle and Cissy had remained at the top of the steps after their own farewells.

“Well…” Persephone signed. “That was…different…”

Gloss chuckled in agreement.

Unfortunately it was at this point that their almost pleasant routine came to an end.

Because in District Six she had an “appointment” to fulfil.

“…what?”

“Once you’ve finished your official duties, including a tour of the District should there be one, it has been requested that you spend the remainder of your day with Dexter Lorne,” Titus repeated, reading the information off of his tablet. Persephone felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re very lucky. He’s the owner of _Panem Rail_ and a very wealthy man which makes him an excellent candidate to cultivate for future sponsorships; if you please him now he might save one of your Tributes in the years to come. He’s in District Six for a  business meeting and when he discovered that it would overlap with your visit he put in a request for you to join him for the formal dinner being thrown in his honour. President Snow himself authorised the request, extending it to include the hours before the dinner.”

It felt as though her heart was going to jump out of her chest it was beating so fast.

“Luckily Batiatus has brought along a handful of extra outfits which are suitable for such an occasion but not too glamorous for the people of District Six whom you shall be meeting.”

A gentle hand settled on her knee, steadying her, and she followed the arm up to its owners face, finding Cashmere offering her a tight, reassuring smile. Gloss beside her looked blank.

They were as stunned as she was, she realised, and angry too.

And Titus either didn’t know the truth about what was expected of her or simply didn’t care.

The latter, she decided, was more likely given that he also looked after Cashmere and Gloss.

“Now, off you go. You need to get ready for your speech.”

Her speech.

How…how could she be expected to give a speech knowing that…knowing what…

But she managed.

Just.

It took every ounce of her training to keep her mask in place, to recite the words with the right amount of inflections to keep it from becoming too monotonous, to get the names of their fallen Tributes, Jaidra Reef and Falkon Myers, right and to end with the familiar phrase,

“Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

She was so dazed that it wasn’t until she’d stepped away from the microphone that she recalled the horrific way that Falkon had been killed, the walls of the labyrinth crushing him just as they had tried to crush her before the finale. Jaidra had died in the initial bloodbath.

It was a mercy that the three surviving Victors from District Six were all morphling addicts and couldn’t do anything more than shake her hand when Gloss introduced her to them.

Rhett Castaneda, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games, had been a handsome young man when he’d emerged from the Arena but in the years since he had become a shadow of his former self, his hair growing too long and hanging limply around his face whilst his skin had taken on the same waxy, yellow tone as his fellow Victors, Oswin Perry, Victor of the 57th Hunger Games, and Klara Newman, Victor of the 49th Hunger Games using the same technique as Rhett; camouflaging himself and hiding until all of the other Tributes had killed each other.

Much to Persephone’s dismay there was no mention of a tour around the District, none of the “Morphlings” in any condition to do much more than stumble home for their next fix.

This meant that there was no putting it off when Titus arrived to take her back to the train so that she could get ready for her “appointment” with Dexter Lorne. It felt as though all of the air had been sucked out of the room as Batiatus handed her the outfit he had decided upon; a push-up bra with a matching lace thong underneath a silk dress which was designed to look like a men’s tuxedo, wrapping around her body and fastening only at the waist with a bow. It had obviously been chosen with ease of access in mind, not a single zip or button in sight. Her legs were left bare despite the low temperature, once again for ease of access, and the shoes she was given were a pair of stupidly high and very uncomfortable stilettos.

“Yes,” Batiatus hummed as he looked her up and down. “Perfect.”

Perfect.

_Perfect._

What did that even mean?

The perfect _what?_

Victor?

Whore?

“Your car is here,” Titus announced, nodding his approval to Batiatus. “Perfect.”

There was that word again.

“Remember, Dexter Lorne is a _very_ wealthy and a valuable asset to cultivate so we need you to be on your best behaviour,” Titus reminded her as he all but dragged her along the train and out to the car which was idling, waiting for her. “The car will come back for you later.”

Gloss and Cashmere were in the dining car, both of them trying to appear casual.

They met her gaze, their eyes filled with sorrow and concern and a healthy amount of fear.

But there was also something else in their eyes…

A promise to be there for her when she got back.

Squaring her shoulders she offered them the best smile she could muster,

“I’ll see you later.”

~ * ~

 **A/N** I hope this wasn’t too confusing but I wanted to give a decent amount of detail in each of the Districts, especially regarding the rest of the Victors. As such I have created a master copy of the Victors of every Hunger Games and, to help me figure out their journey, a map of Panem. If people would like me to I will try and upload these but hopefully I’ve been clear enough for it to make sense without them. Comments and Suggestions welcome as always.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**DISCLAIMER:** I don’t own the Hunger Games but the OC’s are my creation.

 **SUMMARY:** Persephone Waters, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, had naively thought that the worst was over when she left the Arena. As she embarks on her Victory Tour, however, she discovers just how wrong she was…

 **A/N:** The title comes from a quote by Anonymous – “If it were not for dreams there would be no such thing as ballet, the cruellest of the performing arts.”

 **WARNINGS:** Canon-Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Language, Non-Con/Implied Rape

** IF IT WERE NOT FOR DREAMS  
** **CHAPTER THREE**

Persephone was glad to leave District Six, which would be forever remembered to her as the place that she officially became a whore for President Snow, behind her for a grand total of ten minutes before remembering precisely which District they were now zooming towards. 

The one stop along her Victory Tour that she had been dreading the most.

District Three.

They’d be travelling through the night this time, Gloss informing her that this was the only time that this would happen during the entire Victory Tour, although they’d be moving at a much slower speed than before. It was necessary to travel at a slower speed when changing from the “Outer Circular” to the “Inner Circular” due to the risk of derailing the train should they be going too fast on the tighter bends where the link line merged with the others. First, however, they had to switch the train around so that they could travel back in the direction they’d come from. It was a surprisingly complicated procedure for something that seemed relatively simple to the ballerina given that there was a train engine, sleek and modern, at either end of the equally sleek carriages. But apparently there were tests and procedures that had to be completed when they switched from using one engine to another and they took time, so much time that the sun had already set by the time they finally got under way.

Persephone was so tired she felt like she could sleep for days and yet at the same time her stomach churned so badly with shame and regret that she feared she’d never sleep again.

“Persephone?”

A gentle hand settled on her silk covered shoulder.

She was still dressed in the outfit end given her to wear to her _special appointment_ , the fabric wrinkled from where it had lain on the floor after she’d d to remove it for Dexter.

He’d ordered her to call him by his first name rather than the _Mr Lorne_ she’d opened with.

It was Cashmere, her beautiful face filled with concern.

“Why don’t you head to bed? A shower might do you the world of good…”

As though stirred up by the gentle words the smell of him flooded her senses, overwhelming her and causing her stomach to lurch threateningly, and she found herself nodding sharply.

“You look done in,” Cashmere continued softly. “Let me help you.”

Persephone allowed herself to be helped up out of the seat she had dropped into upon entering the lounge car, leaning on the older woman gratefully as Cashmere set about guiding get her through the train until they reached her room with its private bathroom.

Once inside the privacy of her room her hands fell to the tie securing her dress.

“Here,” Cashmere spoke up quickly. “Let me.”

Gentle hands stripped her out of her clothes, revealing the marks that had been left upon her body by his rough treatment of her, and then urged her under the hot spray of water.

The first sob escaped her when Cashmere, dressed only in her underwear, stepped into the shower with her and set about washing her short hair for her, massaging  her scalp as she worked the shampoo and conditioner into the bright purple strands. No words were spoken between the two of them as Cashmere finished with her hair and began washing her body, using a sponge to gently wipe away every trace of Dexter Lorne from her skin, Persephone sobbing weakly as she finally allowed the emotions she’d been holding back to flood out.

Had she been left alone to clean herself she’d probably have scrubbed her skin raw.

As it was she emerged refreshed but unharmed, or rather not harmed any more than she had already been, and allowed herself to be wrapped in a towel and carefully patted dry.

Once she was dry Cashmere turned her attention to herself, removing her wet underwear before using a fresh towel to pat herself dry and wrapping her hair within another towel.

“Here.”

Gloss’ voice startled both of them as he appeared in the doorway of her bathroom, his gaze remaining respectfully on their flushed faces as he held their pyjamas out to both of them.

They dressed in silence, two pairs of hands gently helping her when her fingers refused to cooperate, and between one breath and the next Persephone found herself lifted up and carefully laid down in the centre of her bed, her Mentors climbing in on either side of her.

“…does it get any easier?” she found herself asking softly as they pulled the sheets up over their bodies, rolling onto her side so that she could rest her head on Gloss’ shoulder while Cashmere moulded her body along the younger woman’s back. “Letting them…being a…”

“No,” Gloss murmured honestly. “Not really.”

“You just learn how to live with it,” Cashmere added softly, her breath tickling the back of Persephone’s neck and sending a shiver down her spine. “We’ll help you, Persephone, as best we can but for now you must try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a difficult day…”

“…I don’t know if I can face them,” Persephone confessed, her voice thick as tears flooded down her cheeks as though a dam had burst. Gloss pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his arms tightening around both herself and Cashmere. “They must hate me for not…”

“They won’t hate you,” Cashmere tried to reassure her, pressing her own kiss to the back of Persephone’s shoulder. She too tightened her hold of the youngest amongst them, offering what physical comfort she could along with her words. “You kept their daughter safe for as long as you could. Any other Tribute would have killed her but you helped her to survive…”

“But it wasn’t enough…”

“Yes, it was,” Gloss murmured. “You tried, Persephone, and that will _always_ be enough.”

“Now,” Cashmere announced firmly. “Sleep.”

She did sleep, eventually, but it was far from the restful slumber she needed.

Her dreams were haunted by her memories of the Arena, of her dear friend and how she had failed to save her. And then they’d changed, suddenly and unexpectedly, twisting and warping into a version where Aurora _had_ won and had been treated just as she had been…

She woke calling out for Aurora, pulling herself out of her Mentors embrace as she bolted from the bed to the bathroom where she expelled everything she had eaten the day before.

“Persephone…”

“I’m glad she’s dead,” she gasped out, sobbing like a frightened child as she slumped against the outside of the shower, the realisation hitting her like a ton of bricks. “If I’d succeeded in making Aurora the Victor then she would have been…they would have turned her into a…”

Gloss and Cashmere said no more, simply held her and cleaned her up and eventually got her back into bed for a couple more hours sleep. This time she dreamed of dancing alone in the centre of a pitch black stage with only a spotlight to light her, following her movements.

It was the most peaceful dream she’d had since the Tour had begun.

In fact it was so peaceful that she was reluctant to wake when the alarm finally sounded, grounding and hiding her face in her pillow…which turned out to be Gloss’ stomach as sometime in the latter part of the night she had curled up even further, moving her head down from his shoulder. Cashmere was still behind her only no longer pressed in close.

As far as outfits for the Tour went she wasn’t too upset by the creation Batiatus had for her that day; a tartan dress, purple of course, with so many layers of underskirt that it left the outer skirt looking like a bell and a pleasantly high neckline. It had no sleeves but that didn’t matter as it was paired with a deep purple jacket made of the softest leather which had an exquisitely warm lining. Her legs were left bare and her shoes were simple purple stilettos.

Her short hair was slicked down and away from her face with a lot of strawberry scented hair gel in a rather severe look, accentuating the shape of her skull, and her makeup was dramatic enough that she could have worn it on stage with smoky eyes and bright lips.

Both purple, of course, a deep purple that could almost have passed for black.

“The first thing I’m doing when we get back to District One is burning every purple item of clothing that I own,” she muttered, half to herself, half to her Mentors as they alighted from the train and made their way up the steps to the rear entrance of the Justice Building. Gloss let out an undignified snort as he help the door open for her. “I mean it. I’ll have a bonfire.”

“I believe you,” he murmured as they slipped inside. “And I can’t blame you.”

“I must apologise but there is a slight delay,” a young man, the Mayors assistant, announced suddenly. He was clutching his clipboard to his chest with shaking hands, shaking which only increased as Titus rounded on him in righteous fury, demanding to know what had caused the delay and how long it would take to resolve the issue. “We have had some trouble with the crowds. There’s too many of them, you see, and we’ve had to alter the layout. Normally only a third of the Districts population attends the Victory Tour but almost everyone is out there today; only those that _have_ to work are absent. We should be ready in ten minutes.”

“Unacceptable,” Titus tutted loudly. “Completely unacceptable.”

It ended up being closer to twenty minutes before Persephone was finally announced, the doors pulled open and she stepped out onto the stage, a fact that Titus promised to report.

Persephone hardly noticed.

She was too busy worrying about how she would react to the sight of Aurora’s family, about whether she would be able to keep her composure, to keep up the act that was required of her. As it was she almost stumbled upon seeing two little girls, not yet of Reaping age, who were the spitting image of her deceased friend, covering it with a giggle and an adjustment of her shoe. There was a boy too, no older than fifteen, whose hair was as dark as the girls was blonde and with them were their parents, Aurora’s parents. The girls, it seemed, took after their mother whilst Aurora’s brother was the spitting image of their father. They all had the same ashen skin tone that Aurora had had and a glance around the crowd of people crammed into the square before her confirmed that it was a dominant trait in District Three.

A throat cleared behind her, prompting her to step up to the microphone and begin,

“Good Morning, District Three, and thank you for having me.”

Settling into the character she had created she turned to smile at the balding Mayor.

“And thank you, Mayor Hutton, for that marvellous introduction,” she offered up the praise despite having no memory of the introduction whatsoever. “It is an honour for me to stand before you today, not only to celebrate my victory but to remember your brave Tributes…”

Here she couldn’t help but pause, tears welling up in her eyes.

A deep breath...

A glance up set the sky…

“A-A-Aurora Parks,” she forced out, unable to keep herself from stuttering as she glanced at her friends grieving family. “And Remus Ashton who represented your District with honour.”

She knew what she should say, her brain proving her with the lines she had memorised, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak so generically of her friend whose life had been cut short.

“I didn’t know Remus and for that I’m sorry,” she apologised, glancing across at the other family standing together on a raised dais before a picture of their fallen Tribute. “He fought with honour and you should take great comfort in the fact that he shall never be forgotten.”

Honour.

She knew now that he had lost control of his bladder when Mace had killed him during the Bloodbath by driving his spear through Remus’ stomach and leaving him to die a slow death.

No, there was no _honour_ to be found inside the Arena…

Swallowing loudly she turned her attention back to Aurora’s family.

“I _did_ know Aurora. _Rory_ ,” she murmured with a heartbroken chuckle, a single tear escaping and drawing a dark line down her cheek. “She was my friend. We met during the training sessions which, of course, I can’t tell you too much about. But I think I can share the fact that the first thing she said to me was to ask me how I was able to do the splits which I had done as part of my warmup routine. Only she didn’t know what it was called so she called it _that leg thing_. It made me smile. It _still_ makes me smile. So I told her all about my ballet training and how I’d hoped to audition for the Capitol ballet and in return she told me about you, her family, and how she didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up, only that she didn’t particularly want to answer phones all day. She thought she’d get bored...”

A wet chuckle, close enough to a sob that someone let out a murmur of concern, escaped her, matching the one that caused Aurora’s mother to crumple into her husband’s arms.

“I had no intention of helping her during the Games in spite of the fact that I liked her. It just didn’t seem feasible,” Persephone found herself confessing not only to the crowned before her but to everyone watching the broadcast. “But then she was _right there_ when we came up into the Arena and I couldn’t help myself. I thought if I can’t win then at least she could.”

She’d never have wished that of she’d known the truth.

“But that wasn’t to be,” she forced out the words even as another tear fell, marking her other cheek the same as the first. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t get her home to you…”

A hand settled on her shoulder, making her jump.

“You need to finish the speech,” Gloss murmured in her ear, softly enough that the microphone couldn’t pick it up. His hand squeezed once before letting go. “Standing…”

“Standing before you,” she all but exhaled the words, following his prompt with the words they had all agreed upon even as she felt herself beginning to tremble. She hadn’t intended to deviate from the speech, at least not as much as she had ended up doing. What would the President think? What would he say? What would he _do_? “I’m filled with pride to think that in this moment we are united by our services to the glory, to the power of the Capitol.”

Folding her hands together over her churning stomach, linking her thumbs, she forced her features to adopt as natural a smile as possible so that she would appear entirely earnest.

“Panem today,” she intoned. “Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

A polite smattering of applause followed her speech, prompting her to offer the audience a curtsey before Gloss reappeared at her side to offer her his arm, leading her away from the microphone and over to where Cashmere, her expression carefully blank, was stood beside two men and a woman who Persephone quickly identified as District Three’s living Victors.

According to the information packet she’d received on District Three as part of the _Victory Tour Preparation Documents_ she’d only found in her room two days ago when she’d been searching for something to read to distract herself District Three had only had six Victors.

They could, however, claim the honour of having one of the first five Victors.

Huxley Schneider, who had died of old age many years ago, had won the 2nd Hunger Games.

The other Districts who could claim a “first five” were her own District, who could also boast that Ruby Wells won the inaugural Hunger Games, District Two with Odius Atkins emerging victorious from the 5th Hunger Games, District Four who’s flame haired Coral Fleming had won the 3rd Hunger Games with an only recently matched and then beaten score of fifteen kills and most surprising of all District Twelve, Loren Holt surviving the 4th Hunger Games.

Their other two deceased Victors, Dayta Warren, Victor of the 19th Hunger Games and Lana Beck, Victor of the 31st Hunger Games had also been dead for some years now, Dayta having succumbed to a lengthy illness whilst Lana had quite scandalously been found unconscious and naked in a hotel room, dying en route to _Victors Mercy_ of an overdose of barbiturates.

Persephone wondered if it had been suicide or an accident or perhaps the fault of her client.

She honestly wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that any of her theories were correct.

“Persephone, allow me to introduce…”

Before Gloss could finish his introductions the female Victor from District Three stepped forwards to run her hand across Persephone’s slicked back hair, a frown twisting the lines of her face and making her seem much older than her true age. Wiress needed no introduction really having become somewhat infamous for not being altogether there over the last few years, her interviews as a Mentor always going badly or in some cases not happening at all.

“Such a pretty colour…” the older woman mumbled thickly, still frowning. “Not possible.”

“Hello, Wiress,” Persephone greeted her gently, reaching up to take her hand with both of her own, giving it a gentle squeeze as she met Wiress’ somewhat vacant gaze. She noticed absently that the others seemed to be holding their breath, ready to intercede if either she or Wiress needed any help. “And you’re correct, this isn’t my natural hair colour. I’m blonde, really, but purple has become a something of a signature hair colour following my Games.”

“S’nice,” Wiress mumbled, looking down at their hands. “Not real, but nice nonetheless.”

Wiress, she recalled, had won the 48th Hunger Games by outlasting her fellow Tributes in an Arena that was eerily similar to Persephone’s own; underground tunnels although hers had been from some sort of underground train network rather than the faux natural caves that Persephone had been faced with. She, like her fellow District Three Victors, had used the technology present in the Arena to survive whilst the other Tributes had killed each other.

Beetee Latier, the eldest surviving Victor from District Three stepped forwards to wrap his arm comfortingly around Wiress’ shoulders whilst extending his other hand to Persephone.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Waters,” he murmured, his voice rumbling pleasantly as she pulled her right hand free so as to shake his. “We all appreciated the kindness that you showed Aurora inside the Arena; there aren’t many Tributes that would’ve done the same.”

“I think it has been well established by now, Mr Latier, that I’m not like most Tributes.”

“Beetee, please,” he offered, a warmth appearing in his coffee coloured eyes. Persephone found herself wondering where he had come by his darker skin tone, given that she had already realised that having ashen skin was a trait of District Three, but she kept her query to herself for the time being. “No call to stand on ceremony now you’re amongst friends.”

“Persephone, then,” she responded, giving his hand a squeeze before turning to extend her hand towards the third Victor, Atam Sutton. Unlike Beetee and Wiress whose Games were so long ago that she had only seen the highlights that the Capitol broadcast every now and then, particularly the climax of the 40th Hunger Games when Beetee had trapped the Career Pack and had successfully electrocuted all of them to be crowned Victor, she recalled every moment of the 66th Hunger Games as it had been the last year before she was eligible to be Reaped. At eleven-years-old she had yet to realise how District One operated and had spent the duration of his Games picturing herself in place of the Tributes as they had fallen but for some reason had been unable to picture herself in Atam’s place when he won by blinding his final opponent with a torch he’d made out of supplies he had found in the rubbish tip at the centre of that years Arena, causing the other Tribute to fall to his death. “Hello, Atam.”

“Hello,” Atam responded, his voice barely above a whisper. “P-Perseph-ph-phone.”

“You can call me Percy if that would be easier,” she offered warmly, as he finally gave her hand the briefest of shakes before retreating, pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands. “Honestly, I don’t mind. People have always shortened it, long before I told Rory, Aurora, to do so. It’s something of a mouthful, you see, and even back home people always struggle.”

This was a bit of an exaggeration but it was worth it to see the relieved smile on his face.

“P-Percy,” he repeated more confidently than before. “Yes, that’s…mmmuch better.”

Persephone couldn’t recall if Atam had had a stutter before his Games or not.

Either way when combined with his floppy curls, big blue eyes and the way he fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves now that they covered his hands he came across as rather adorable.

_And I bet the Capitol love him for it…_

The thought, which had come out of the blue, caused the colour to drain from her face.

“Would you care to take a tour of our District, Persephone?”

This query, coming from Beetee, startled her out of her rapidly darkening thoughts.

A good thing too as the camera’s had moved in as close as they could, intent on capturing every moment of their meeting as closely as possible regardless of their personal comfort.

“Oh, yes,” she responded, her enthusiasm sounding painfully artificial, not that the Capitol would notice; they would only see what they wanted to see. “That would be lovely, Beetee.”

It would have been an interesting way to spend the day had her mind not been in a constant state of torment, matched only by the deafening noise which emanated from inside each of the twelve factories that were currently in operation within District Three. Each factory was packed to the rafters with workers, the sheer number of bodies working in a strange sort of dance to create things before their very eyes, and it was easy to believe that they were the third largest District in Panem in terms of population. They could begin work in the factories at the age of sixteen, Beetee informed her, although the managers often turned a blind eye and allowed children as young as thirteen to start in the packing sheds where it was safest.

Workplace accidents weren’t common, she heard, but when they happened they were bad.

With so many jobs available to the population, albeit some of them for a rather pitiful wage, most of them were spared the risk of taking out tesserae in order to keep food on the table.

A tour of the town followed, the group stopping in every shop to admire the wares on sale, before winding up in the Victors Village where Beetee had laid on a small meal for them. It was simple food, cooked by his housekeeper, but it made a nice change from all the fancy Capitol food that was served on the train and was accompanied by a fruit cider that Wiress made herself. There was also some fruit gin being passed around but Persephone declined.

Gin was known as “mothers ruin” for a reason…

“What’s on the other side of the river?” she found herself asking late in the afternoon as she stood in Beetee’s garden looking out at the river behind his house. “I can see buildings…”

“It’s out of bounds,” Beetee answered, coming over to stand beside her so as to gaze over at the same patch of trees and what remained of a house “They’re ruins from the Dark Days.”

“Really?” she gasped, her eyes going wide as she took in more of the sight. “I’ve never…”

“It’s quite the sight, isn’t it?” he murmured, twisting the frame of his watch until it clicked loudly. “A reminder of a time when the Capitol wasn’t the all-powerful entity that it is now.”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” Persephone found herself hissing. “What if…?”

Beete held up his watch, tapping the face once as he announced,

“They can’t hear a thing just now.”

She eyed the watch in shock.

“Did you…?”

“Yes, but I can only use it in short intervals,” her host confirmed, showing her how the second hand were now illuminated as they moved. “Lest they realise something wrong.”

With that said he turned the frame back the other way, another click sounding just before the hands returned to their normal un-illuminated state, thus ending the moment of safety.

“I wish I had…” she trailed off, glancing down at the watch before quickly coming up with a suitable ending to her sentence just in case someone was listening to them just then. “…a view like this, with the river and the trees and, yes, the ruined buildings. It’s so peaceful.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Beetee responded with a smile, squeezing her wrist. “And I’m sorry to drag you away from it but your Escort is insisting that it’s time for you to return to the train…”

“Oh,” she gasped, her heart thumping at the prospect. “Of course. Thank you.”

What would be waiting for her back on the train?

Would…would President Snow already have…

If he was going to punish her by…by harming her parents would they…

Were they already…

A camera appeared in her face, startling her so badly that she flinched away from it before she could recover her mask, and it took her a long moment to drag her smile back onto her face as she made her way over to where Gloss and Cashmere were waiting for her, both of them wearing expressions of carefully veiled concern. Titus, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, was already waiting impatiently by the front door, actually tapping his heeled shoe.

They said their goodbyes, promising to catch up when they were all next in the Capitol, and made their way back to the train at as leisurely a pace as they could get Titus to agree to.

It was still too soon as far as Persephone was concerned.

Nothing about the train seemed to have changed; the Avoxes were still there to greet them when they arrived, taking their coats should they be wearing one, the bar was still stocked with every drink that had ever existed, there were still trays of delicious looking snacks and treats spread around the main compartment and, after excusing herself from the rest of the group, as she walked to her private compartment the trains Peacekeepers still ignored her.

It wasn’t until she stepped into her room that she found something out of ordinary.

A rose, resting innocently on her pillow, and beside it was a note.

She couldn’t breathe, her lungs literally seizing in her chest as she picked up the note.

_I would advise sticking to the cards in future, Miss Waters, or there will be consequences._

Gloss must have sensed something was wrong as before she could even suck in the lungful of air required to create the scream that bubbled out of her mouth he was there, pulling her into his arms, a hand resting on the back of her head and directing her face into his chest.

Her breathing was unpredictable for some time, during which Gloss carefully took the note from her, read it, placed it aside and changed his grip on her into one that truly encased her.

“You’re family are ok,” he murmured in her ear. “It was just a warning. We knew this District was going to be a challenge and so did the President. Every Victor has one visit that’s worse than all the others for various reasons; mine was District Six because all I could see was the look on the twelve-year-old girls face as I broke her neck. My first kill. First kill of the Games. Her name was Kyva. I’ve never forgotten her and I could barely get a word out when I had to face her family. As long as you stick to scrip for the rest of the Tour everything will be fine.”

A whimper escaped her in response to his gentle reassurances.

He held her for as long as it took for her breathing to return to normal, continuing to utter words of comfort and reassurance into her ear as he gently swayed her body from side to side, rubbing his hands up and down her back or running his fingers through her short hair.

“Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get Cashmere and we’ll head to bed early?”

“Could…could it just be you?”

The request took both of them by surprise.

“Tonight, I mean,” she clarified. “I...I just…I want…”

What _did_ she want?

Thankfully he took pity on her, cupping her jaw with his left hand as he met her eyes.

“Just me,” he agreed. “I’ll let Cashmere know she has to sleep alone tonight.”

“Thank you.”

She showered quickly, washing away the day as best she could, and when she emerged it was to find Gloss perched on the edge of her bed in his pyjama bottoms, her own pyjamas folded neatly beside him. In that moment, however, she found herself disinclined to dress.

Instead she found herself staring at his muscular chest with a slight frown.

Was his skin naturally that smooth or did they remove his body hair?

What came out of her mouth next was nothing to do with his lack of body hair, however, and took both of them so much by surprise that neither one of them spoke for a minute.

“Does sex _ever_ feel good?”

When he did finally break the silence that followed her query it was with a sad sigh,

“Oh, Persephone…”

“Sorry,” she mumbled quickly, stumbling forwards and reaching out for her pyjamas. His hands settled over hers, just resting gently as she froze in place, their eyes meeting. “I…”

“Yes, it can feel good,” he answered, his voice unusually thick. “It can feel wonderful.”

Again the words were pouring out her before she could stop herself,

“Will you show me?”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Gloss blinked up at her, obviously stunned by her request, and she automatically attempted to back-track, pulling her hands from his.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled hurriedly. “I should have…forget I said anything about it…”

“Persephone,” he silenced her, his own voice thick as he reached out to take hold of her hands once more this time pulling her towards him. “I would be _honoured_ to show you.”

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

Tears of relief.

Of gratitude.

“… _thank you_ …”

~ * ~

 **A/N** Sorry for the delay - this chapter turned out to be a bit of pig to write which surprised me but I got there eventually. Comments & Suggestions welcome. X

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Non-graphic abuse towards the end of the chapter - please skip if this will upset you

**DISCLAIMER:** I don’t own the Hunger Games but the OC’s are my creation.

**SUMMARY:** Persephone Waters, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, had naively thought that the worst was over when she left the Arena. As she embarks on her Victory Tour, however, she discovers just how wrong she was…

**A/N:** The title comes from a quote by Anonymous – “If it were not for dreams there would be no such thing as ballet, the cruellest of the performing arts.”

**WARNINGS:** Canon-Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Language, Non-Con/Implied Rape

** IF IT WERE NOT FOR DREAMS  
** **CHAPTER FOUR.**

Stepping off of the train in District Eight it became immediately apparent why Tributes from this particular District always struggled to survive past the initial bloodbath; before going to the Capitol she hadn’t realised that buildings could be built so tall or so closely together. In District One the buildings were all carefully spaced and none of them had more than three floors, not even the _Academy of the Arts_ , and yet here they towered over her, ugly brown and grey buildings stretching up twenty, maybe even thirty floors high. It made her dizzy just to look at them. Unlike the Capitol these buildings were obviously in desperate need of maintenance and the roads and alleys between them were covered in pile of dirt and trash.

She didn’t see a single piece of nature until they were inside the Justice Building and even then it was only a rather pathetic potted plant sitting on the desk of the Mayors secretary.

No wonder their Tributes struggled with something as simple as running on grass...

Unlike in District Three everything about her speech in District Eight was perfect.

She spoke of the glory of the Capitol without pause.

She told them how honoured she was to have emerged the Victor without hesitation.

She offered up the names of their fallen Tributes without the slightest hitch in her voice.

That hadn’t been easy, mostly due to the recaps she had been forced to watch. Had she not had to sit there and watch her Games she wouldn’t still be able to picture Hyacinth Stone as she desperately fought over a bag of supplies only to be cut down from behind, now would she still be able to hear twelve-year-old Dafyd Aguilar’s frightened sobs, calling out for his mother as he’d suffered a slow, painful death after Jayne had stabbed him in the stomach.

But she managed it.

She kept her composure to the bitter end.

“Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

Turning away from the sea of people dressed in brightly coloured clothes, made out of scraps of fabric that hadn’t been needed for the outrageous clothes they made for the Capitol no doubt, she kept her head high as she moved across to join her fellow Victors.

District Eight had the dubious and now completely understandable honour of being the second worst District in regards to number of Victors, only District Twelve having doing worse than they did, and as such there were only two figures stood with her Mentors.

Cecelia Hayes, Victor of the 60th Hunger Games, was not at all what Persephone had been expecting given how recently she’d won her Games. She was plump, her eyes tired and a gold wedding band glittered on the ring finger of her left hand. Given her good looks she should have been a favourite in the Capitol and yet she had never been called upon to do anything more than Mentor, or so Cashmere had told her. It wasn’t until they were joined by Cecelia’s husband and children that she realised why she had been spared; her eldest child, a daughter, must have been conceived during her Victory Tour if not before. Being a mother had, it seemed, kept her out of the Capitolites beds although having a Victor for a parent must have painted a pretty big target on her children’s backs, Persephone reasoned.

It wouldn’t surprise her if one of them got Reaped when they were old enough.

“Welcome to District Eight,” Cecelia murmured, offering her small hand which Persephone automatically reached out to take. They shook, the older Victor offering her a sympathetic smile before she stepped back to join her family. “You spoke beautifully, my dear. Now, let me introduce you to my husband, Burton, and my children; Bale, Sonja, Lacey and Andrei.”

As she smiled at each of the children in turn she realised something else about the eldest of her children; she was the only one that didn’t share any of her fathers characteristics. Could it be that Bale, as well as having been conceived at a questionable time, had a different dad?

“I like you’re skirt,” Sonja, who could be no older than ten, mumbled shyly. “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Persephone returned, smoothing her hands over the surprisingly long skirt. It reached her knees, despite being of a ridiculously high waisted design, and bore a pattern that when she’d first seen it that morning had made her eyes water; a mixture of brightly coloured flowers overlaying geometric shapes overlaying a purple background. The flowers, of course, were different shades of purple but with a couple of blues and greens thrown in for good measure. Another surprise had been the fact that the top that Batiatus had paired the skirt with had long sleeves, so long they covered half of her hands as well as her arms, and had a scooped neckline that only showed the barest hint of her cleavage. For the most part the top was the same colour as the base colour of the skirt apart from the fabric over the outer swell of her breasts which bore embroidered flowers to match the pattern of the circle skirt. “I like your dress very much as well. I’ve always been fond of pinafore dresses.”

All three of Cecelia’s daughters wore the same blue pinafore dress, in fact.

“ _I_ like your shoes,” Lacey, who was obviously only a year or so younger than her sister, announced with a noticeable emphasis on the first word. “I’m not allowed to wear heels.”

“Well, I think that’s quite sensible,” Persephone announced, looking down at the purple stilettos currently squeezing the life out of her toes. “I’ve only recently started wearing them for more than just a special occasion or a performance. Flats are more practical.”

Lacey considered her answer for a moment before announcing seriously,

“But not as pretty.”

“No,” Persephone found herself chuckling. “Not always.”

Judging by the expression on the camera crews faces the Capitol were lapping up the live feed of this particular conversation and a little voice in the back of her mind hoped that her performance here would do something to ease the Presidents disapproval of her actions.

Of course it was just as this thought crossed her mind that it all went wrong.

“You’re the Tribute that flashed her tits.”

“Woof!”

Cecelia scandalised cry did nothing to remove the blush from Persephone’s heavily made up face as she turned to meet the disapproving gave of Wilberforce Gascoigne, Victor of the 15th Hunger Games who had always been know as Woof. She recalled seeing an analysis of his Games once, a couple of present day Gamemakers judging his performance as the then seventeen-year-old Woof had hidden until only the Careers were left. He’d attacked them as they slept, killing the one on guard before taking out the other two before they could wake.

“You can’t go around saying things like that!” Cecelia continued. “We’ve told you before…”

“But she is the Tribute that…”

His voice shook, reminding Persephone of a child that was adamant they’d got something right but were being scolded for getting it wrong, and his expression was full of confusion.

“I am,” she found herself confirming gently. “I think what Cecelia is trying to say is that it is perhaps not appropriate to refer to such things in public, particularly around her children.”

“But I am right?”

“You are.”

Nodding, Woof let out a pleased hum before turning his back on her entirely and enquiring where his mother was and why she hadn’t come along to pick him up yet. It was…strange…

“Please excuse Woof,” Barton, Cecelia’s husband, murmured. “He gets…confused…”

“It’s his age, poor soul,” Cecelia explained, gesturing for a young woman to come and look after Woof. Judging by the way the young woman took charge of him it wasn’t the first time she’d been enlisted to complete this particular task. “Something that will come to us all.”

“We hope,” Barton muttered under his breath, pulling his son back to rest against his legs, his fingers brushing through the boys sandy blonde hair. “Would you care to have a Tour?”

“I’d love one,” she responded with a smile that was entirely for the cameras. “Thank you.”

The tour was everything she expected it to be, filled with crowded streets and busy factories that left an unpleasant smell in her nostrils, although the unexpected but welcome addition of Cecelia’s children to their party kept the conversation light and unexpectedly pleasant. It did her good to speak with Cecelia, the last Victor who had faced off against her own District partner in the finale of her Games although the situation had been different; they had been allies throughout, working together to eliminate those who would kill them until only they remained. They’d refused to fight each other, unlike Arcturus and Persephone, which had forced the Gamemakers to intervene. Cecelia had won simply because she had been able to run faster and as such had been able to outrun the mutts that had been set upon them.

Cecelia understood what it felt like to have her finale considered a “superior showing.”

District Eights only other Victor never came up in their conversation.

It was only after she had returned to the train late that afternoon that she learned that Annoushka Pittman, Victor of the 37th Hunger Games, had died during the 58th Games.

According to information packet she’d “accidentally overdosed on sleeping pills” although there was a very real chance that it had been a more deliberate act than the Capitol would have everyone believe. She had been sixteen when she’d won, young and beautiful and the perverts that now clamoured for Persephone’s “favours” would have sought after hers…

It seemed to be a tragically common thing for a Victor to end their own suffering.

Persephone couldn’t help but fear that she too might one day choose to end her own life…

“Whatever you’re thinking you should cast it from your mind,” Cashmere commanded with a soft smile, taking the file from her hand as she sat in the common room, replacing it with a glass of red wine. The file was then dropped onto the coffee table as she dropped down into her own seat beside her brother with her own glass of wine. “District Two is never an easy visit. You should rest as much as you can this evening and try to get a good nights sleep.”

Persephone nodded.

She headed to bed early, not even trying to be discreet when she lingered in the doorway until Gloss rose to his feet and followed her, offering a simple hand signal to his sister to assure her that all was well. It was a system they had had in place for years, a sign that the other was fine with whatever was about to happen that would go unnoticed by Capitolites.

Persephone noticed, prompting an explanation as they readied themselves for bed.

“This means _I will be fine_ ,” she checked, recreating the motion with her own hand before showing the other two signs he’d shown her. “And that’s _I will endure_ and _I need help_ …”

Rather than responding verbally gloss offered her the simple sign that meant _yes_.

“That’s really clever,” she murmured, slipping between the sheets alongside her Mentor. Her hands moved automatically to plump up the pillows. “Would you mind if I used them?”

“That’s why I agreed to show them to you,” Gloss responded, pulling her into his arms after reaching out to turn off the lights, encouraging her to use snuggle close to his side. “All of us use them, the Career Mentors, when we’re in the Capitol. It keeps things nice and simple.”

She slept fitfully, waking several times through the night from unpleasant dreams, only managing to get about five hours sleep in total before Titus barged into the her room,

“Up! Up! Up!”

Gloss bolted upright beside her, instinctively moving to protect her before realising that they weren’t in danger, throwing an arm across his face as he lay back down beside her.

“Gloss!” Titus gasped, sounding more than a little bit shocked. “What are you doing here?”

A deep blush spread rapidly across her cheeks, her palms sweating so badly that she felt compelled to wipe them off on the bedding under Titus’ disapproving glare. Only the fact that they were both obviously wearing pyjamas saved them from a more severe lecture.

“You should know better than to intrude on a ladies privacy…”

“I asked him to stay with me,” Persephone hurried to defend her Mentor. “It’s my fault.”

“…very well,” Titus huffed, producing a tablet from behind his back which he activated with a tap of his finger, bringing up a long list from what she could see from where she was now sat with her back against the headboard. “I have your itinerary for your visit to District Two and, due to the fact that this will be more complicated than your previous visits, I thought it best that we dedicate some time going through it in detail before you need to get dressed.”

“Oh,” she mumbled in response, moving to tuck her hair behind her ears only to stop short when she realised that her hair was no longer long enough to do so. “That makes sense…”

Titus offered her a relieved smile as she gave in to his plan without any protestations, moving to perch beside her on the edge of the bed so that she could see the itinerary.

“You're to join Septimus Acquilano for breakfast,” he began, his words shocking her as she realised that he was talking about an _appointment_. What would be expected of her at a breakfast meeting? “Acquilano is the Supreme Commander of all of the Peacekeepers in Panem and can be a difficult man to please so you'd better be on your best behaviour.”

She noticed that Gloss had gone worryingly still beside her as he listened in.

“You will address the District at 11 o'clock and then you will join Leontios Yago for lunch,” Titus continued, using his little finger to point at the different parts of the itinerary. He was wearing a rather gaudy ring, she noticed absentmindedly, which was far too big for it to be even remotely practical. “Now Leontios is a personal friend of President Snow so I expect you to _shine_ during your time with him. I won't have you letting me or your District down.”

“…of course…” she somehow managed to respond when he paused pointedly, waiting for her to confirm that she would behave appropriately. “I…I’ll be sure to behave properly…”

“At 3 o'clock you've got a meeting with the Victors of District Two,” Titus continued. “I'd watch what you say if I were you, after all you did eliminate one of theirs and they can be quite competitive. Now, you've been invited to join Romulus Acker, District Twos Mayor, for dinner but don't worry, you'll only have to make a brief appearance as you're scheduled to spend the remainder of the evening with Fabius Quintus Magnusson. Magnusson, as I'm sure you're aware, is one of the richest men in the Capitol. His holdings include the mines here in District Two, the lumber mills of District Seven, a third of the clothing factories in District Eight and District Eleven. _Everything_ in District Eleven. He has long been a supporter of President Snow and will be a very beneficial friend to acquire for future sponsorships.”

It felt as though her lungs had stopped working, the air seizing in her chest as she struggled to process everything that her Escort had just told her. They expected her to…she had to…

A hand settled on her shoulder, causing her to jump, but it was only Gloss.

“Now, there’s no time to waste…” Titus muttered, calling over his shoulder for Batiatus who slipped into the room carrying an opaque garment bag. “Gloss, you have your own duties to perform today. I suggest you go and get yourself sorted whilst Batiatus works his magic.”

Gloss ducked his head discretely, meeting her eyes with a questioning eyebrow arched.

His concern gave her the strength she needed to take a deep breath, to offer Titus and Batiatus a smile even as her hands moved in front of her stomach to sign _I will endure._

A new level of sadness filled his eyes before he nodded and slipped out of the room.

The dress that Batiatus had designed for her was all straight lines and severe angles, patches of translucent fabric spread throughout but focused across her stomach, and barely reached past her buttocks. It was sleeveless and she was unsurprised that Batiatus hadn’t designed a jacket or cardigan to go with it, leaving her suffer from the cold between her appointments.

Her legs were bare, no tights yet again, and her shoes were peep-toe stiletto boots.

Batiatus had decided to keep the angular theme throughout, it seemed, so her eye makeup extended past the outer corners of her eyes to create a sharp point of vivid purple. Her lips too were stencilled in so that their usual plump appearance had been transformed into two odd looking rectangles. He then covered her entire hair in gel, not for the first time, before using a comb and an actual ruler to fashion it into a series of straight lines around her head.

Emerging from her room she grimaced as Titus applauded, congratulating Batiatus on what he deemed to be another triumph when it came to designing her wardrobe, whilst Gloss and Cashmere, both in their own Capitol approved outfits, stood a few paces behind him.

Both of them wore expressions of barely concealed disbelief.

Gloss had obviously shared her schedule with his sister.

“And here’s the car to take you to breakfast,” Titus announced brightly, taking Persephone’s hand and leading her through the dining car to the steps where a clean but obviously well-used car had just pulled up, the driving getting out to open the rear door. “Right on time.”

Smiling tightly she repeated her earlier hand gesture, discretely reassuring her Mentor’s that she would endure everything that the day ahead would bring, before making her way down the steps and carefully taking a seat in the back of the car. A small flinch escaped her carefully controlled mask as the door was shut, trapping her inside the vehicle that would take her to the various men she was expected to _entertain_ , and the driver took his place behind the wheel. It took everything she had not to look back at her Mentors as the car pulled away from the train, clenching her hands in her lap for the duration of the journey.

Septimus Acquilano was younger than she had been expecting, or rather he _appeared_ to be no older than thirty. Of course there was no guarantee that he hadn’t had plastic surgery to make himself appear younger, as was the “ _done thing”_ in the Capitol, not to mention the fact that he was wearing almost as much makeup as she was in order to cover his natural skin tone with a mixture of white and different shades of grey to create a striking contour.

“Miss Waters,” he greeted her, his voice deceptively warm, as she was shown into the luxurious dining room where the breakfast they were to share was laid out. “I’m sure you must hear this all the time but you’re even more beautiful in person. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Mr Acquilano,” she murmured politely, settling down into the seat he had indicated with as much grace as she could manage in the tight dress she had been dressed in. “I wasn’t expecting such a generous invitation. Everything looks delicious.”

“I have followed you since the Reaping, my dear,” he explained, his smile reminding her of a shark; all teeth and more menacing than was appropriate. “And please, call me Septimus.”

“Septimus,” she repeated, accepting the cup of coffee he had poured for her. “Thank you.”

They made pleasant small talk as they ate, Septimus filling both of their plates without once checking with her about her likes and dislikes. She knew better than to refuse, nibbling her way through everything even if it upset her stomach like the unpleasantly strong coffee had.

It was after they had eaten and a couple of young women had come in to clear the table that the true nature of her visit had been revealed, Septimus leading her up to his bedroom.

He had her kneel before him, had her place her mouth upon him.

It made her stomach, already upset, churn worryingly but she obeyed his every command.

Afterwards she was allowed to slip into the bathroom so that she could rinse her mouth out, finding much to her surprise that her lipstick had survived the ordeal without a sing smudge.

Trust the Capitol to have created a lipstick that could withstand…that…

“I look forward to spending more time with you in the future, Miss Waters.”

“And I you,” she managed to get out with a smile as she prepared to the leave his house, her hand trembling ever so slightly as he pressed a kiss to it. He smiled coldly at her. “Goodbye.”

She managed to maintain her composure until she was safely concealed inside the car and on her way to the Justice Building, only then allowing the sobs that she’d been holding back to overtake her, gasping sharply and uncontrollably for the duration of the journey. It was only when the uncomfortable driver cleared his throat that she forced her emotions down, checking on her makeup in the rear view mirror before slipping out to join her two Mentors.

“Persephone?” Cashmere murmured, obviously concern. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” she responded with a false smile, only her eyes betraying her calm statement and then her pain was only visible to those who knew what they were looking for. “I’m just anxious about my speech, given that I am responsible for the loss of one if not both of their Tributes. Will they hold it against me, do you think? The Victors, I mean. They frighten me…”

This wasn’t a lie, she realised as she spoke, the Victors of District Two _did_ frighten her.

They were killers, more so than any of the other Career Victors she had met.

District Two flaunted the fact that they trained their Tributes in such a way that, despite it being against the rules of the Hunger Games, they were permitted if not encouraged to do so; a couple of trained killers per year meant that they would be given a good show, such was the opinion of the sick Capitolites who’s lives revolved around the bloodthirsty sport.

“They will not hold it against you any more than they hold it against myself and Gloss,” her Mentor returned, offering words of comfort as those watching them would expect. In reality when she reached out to squeeze Persephone’s arm it had nothing to do with the way the terrifying Victors would react to her presense and everything to do with her _appointments_. “My brother and I both killed Tributes from District Two in order to secure out Victories.”

“Miss Waters?” an unfamiliar voice called out. “Are you ready?”

Turning to offer the young woman clutching a clipboard to her chest a brilliant smile she nodded, visibly straightened her posture and made her way towards the main entrance.

There they waited just for a moment before she heard the familiar introduction,

“May I present the Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games; Persephone Waters.”

A broad smile settled on her face as she stepped through the doors after they had been pulled open from the outside, making her way across to stand before the microphone.

“Good Morning, District Two, and thank you for welcoming me to your District,” Persephone murmured into the microphone, sticking the script despite the fact that the people gathered before her had done nothing to welcome her as of yet. “I am overjoyed to be here today as we come together not only to celebrate my victory, but to remember your brave Tributes.”

She swallowed once, as discretely as she could before continuing.

“Jayne Dunstan.”

_“I’m not afraid of you!”_

_“Really? Then why did you run away from us? Sure seemed like you were afraid…”_

“And Mace Carter.”

_“…you fucking bitch…just you wait…I’ll get you…”_

“They represented your District with honour and their families should take great pride in knowing that they shall never be forgotten,” she continued, trying not to picture the final moments of the deadly pair. It was a useless endeavour, Jayne’s terrified scream as she fell to her death almost deafening her even as the shocked expression on Mace’s face as he was pierced by Arcturus’ sword flashed before her eyes. “Standing here before you I am filled with a sense of pride to think that in this moment we are united by our service to the glory, the power and the might of the Capitol. Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.”

A stoic silence followed her final statement, one that seemed as though it would last forever before it was finally, _mercifully_ , broken by a single person beginning to applaud slowly. She turned to look at the individual in question, finding it to be the oldest of the Districts large group of surviving Victors, and offered the grey haired woman a thankful smile just as the remainder of District Two joined in with the applause. No one raised their voice, however, favourably or otherwise. They simply applauded for the time it took her to join the Victors.

“At least this one is better spoken than the last Victor…”

“And hasn’t been driven mad like the one before that…”

“Nerilla,” the eldest amongst them snapped, placing her hand on the arm of the young man stood beside her, his gaze vacant in a way that concerned Persephone. “Present company?”

Visibly grimacing the striking young woman, her skin the colour of fresh honey, reached out to take the hand of the man she had insulted with her careless statement, murmuring softly,

“Sorry, Kol, I wasn’t talking about you.”

Only she could have been, Persephone realised as her brain identified the young man.

Kol Styx, Victor of the 69th Hunger Games, who had won almost by default after almost all of the Tributes that had survived the bloodbath had perished due to hypothermia without ever lifting a sword against one another. He’d won simply because he had survived long enough to end up in the finale up against the male tribute from District Nine in the finale, a thirteen year old who had barely put up a fight. She could understand why that would leave damage.

A gasp sounded from the young man in question as his eyes focused all of a sudden.

“It’s alright, Kol,” the elderly Victor murmured, winding her arm around his waist and giving him a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be going home soon and I’ll make you some chamomile tea.”

“…with honey?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Ivory Faust, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games, sighed. “With honey.”

Her white hair was cut short around her head, shorter even than Persephone’s hair, and her body seemed to be stuck in a permanently hunched position. The lines on her face were at their deepest around her eyes and mouth although they were also noticeable between her eyebrows, deepening as she frowned to herself as she comforted the unsteady young man.

Persephone had only ever seen one clip from the 13th Hunger Games.

It was the only clip that the Capitol allowed to be shown.

Everyone knew what had happened during the 13th Hunger Games, though, even though they’d never seen them; most of the Tributes had refused to fight one another as part of a futile attempt to undermine the Games. Those that wouldn’t fight had been slaughtered by mutts controlled by the Gamemakers and those that were willing to fight had been left to complete the Games as though nothing had happened. Ivory had been the one to survive.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Waters.”

“Please,” Persephone hurried to interject. “Call me Persephone.”

“Persephone,” Ivory repeated with a genuine smile. “You’ll join us for a cup of tea later?”

“I believe my schedule allows for me you join you this afternoon,” Persephone answered carefully, earning a nod of approval from Titus who hovered nearby. “At three o’clock?”

“Perfect. I assume you like tea?”

“She’s from District One,” Nerilla scoffed, smirking across at Cashmere and Gloss who offered her identical looks of frustration tinged with fondness. “ _Of course_ she likes tea.”

Nerilla Lawson, Persephone recalled, had used her impressive archery skills to pick off her opponents during the 59th Hunger Games. She was something of a rarity amidst the other Career Victors as she had gone it alone from the very beginning, staying away from the pack once she had acquired the weapon she needed from the Cornucopia during the bloodbath.

Her beauty was such that Persephone could only assume she was _popular_ in the Capitol.

“Then I would be honoured if you would join us for afternoon tea at my house come three o’clock; mine is the blue house in the Victors Village,” Ivory murmured. “You can’t miss it.”

“I should be delighted.”

“Ivory, why don’t you let Brutus take Kol and yourself back to the Village whilst we show Persephone around the District?” Lyme Conners, the towering Victor of the 52nd Hunger Games suggested, turning to smile down at Persephone. “Schedule allowing, of course.”

“I have a lunch engagement but a quick tour would be lovely.”

“I’ll go back with you,” Nerilla offered, slipping her arm through Kol’s left whilst Ivory moved to take the arm offered to her by the terrifyingly muscular Brutus Whittaker, Victor of the 44th Hunger Games. He had won in a manner befitting a Career Tribute; using his skills with a spear, both in terms of close combat and his precision when throwing the weapon, and had been hailed as the perfect image of a Victor for many years. “Help to get things ready.”

After the four Victors had departed the stage, making their way down the external steps at a painfully slow pace, Persephone found herself stood between Gloss and Lyme and genuinely believed that she had never been more conscious of her petite stature than in that moment; Gloss towered over her 5’3” frame given that he was 6’2” and Lyme was even taller, 6’3” in her bare feet, but in the high heels she was wearing just then she must’ve been at least 6’9”.

It hurt Persephone’s neck to meet her gaze.

Lyme had been almost tall when she had secured her victory, seventeen-years-old and deadly with sword, spear and her bare hands. Other than the Career Tributes the other Tributes that year had been young, an alarming number of twelve and thirteen-year-olds who had never stood a chance up against a giant like her. She hadn’t been considered a beauty back then and she still wasn’t considered one now but there was something striking about her features, in her pale blue eyes and even paler blonde hair, in her strong jaw line.

Whether or not she was called upon to _entertain_ people in the Capitol she didn’t know.

It wouldn’t surprise Persephone if there were those who would enjoy dominating her…

“I won’t join you for the tour, if that’s alright with you, Miss Waters,” Gannicus Greyson, Victor of the 56th Hunger Games, murmured with a voice that was thick with pain. A deep frown marred his otherwise handsome face and his body was notably listing to one side. “It’s my…uh…habit to take my painkillers at this time and…and they do knock me out…”

“Of course,” she hurried to reassure him. “Please don’t suffer on my account.”

Gannicus had been badly wounded during the initial bloodbath and had subsequently been abandoned by his fellow Careers leaving him to survive on his own. He’d persevered and somehow, in spite of his horrific injuries, had managed to defeat the favourite during the finale but had been left with permanent nerve damage to all four of his limbs due to the delay between initial injury and treatment, leaving him unable to function without pain.

He was not a favourite of the Capitol in the traditional sense, or rather in the sense that Persephone now knew to be more important to the Capitolites, but he often appeared during official broadcasts as someone to be admired, respected and perhaps even pitied.

“Will you be alright getting back by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine, Buh,” Gannicus offered the final Victor of District Two, Enobaria Hume, a smile that she guessed was supposed to be reassuring but was merely full of pain. “Don’t worry.”

Hearing the deadly killer who at seventeen had ripped out her opponents throat with her teeth in an effort to incapacitate him so that she could finish him off with a dagger to the heart referred to as _Buh,_ such a fond nickname, left Persephone feeling rather unsettled.

“What time is your lunch engagement?”

“I’m not sure…” Persephone murmured, shooting a glance towards Titus who held up a lone finger. Offering him a discreet nod of thanks she turned to Lyme, “Not until one o’clock.”

“Excellent,” the towering Victor announced. “Then we shall begin with the Nut.”

_The Nut_ , she learned during the car ride that was required to reach their destination, was the nickname that had been given to the large mountain that served as their military base.

It was inside this base that they trained Peacekeepers, Persephone learned, and during her brief tour of the facility she saw several training exercises and classroom debates on what a Peacekeeper could or indeed should do whilst on duty with an emphasis on punishments.

Lyme gave a near constant commentary whilst Enobaria remained almost completely silent.

They spent only a brief time at the closest of the seven quarries still in operation, visiting the offices rather than the quarry itself; none of them wanted to risk the thick dust getting onto Persephone’s clothes before she’d finished completing her official engagements for the day.

“We’re the second smallest District of Panem,” Lyme announced as they were leaving the quarry, sharing some more of her interesting trivia, as she had referred to it. “Although the last official census confirmed that in spite of this we have the second largest population, including Peacekeepers stationed throughout the other eleven Districts and the Capitol.”

Offering a response filled with a suitable amount of enthusiasm Persephone couldn’t help but notice the fact that Titus was checking the time on his watch with a hint of impatience.

It therefore came as no surprise when Titus brought the tour to an end soon after.

“I’m afraid Persephone must leave now or she will be late for her lunch engagement.”

Lunch was every bit as unpleasant as breakfast had been.

Leonitos Yago was younger than she had been expecting, his skin so pale it seemed almost translucent. Unlike every other Capitolite she’d met he wore no makeup, or at least that’s how it appeared; there was every chance his pale skin was entirely due to some foundation.

His hair was black with blue streaks, cut in into a strange sort of bowl cut that incorporated a single point directly over the bridge of his nose, drawing her attention to the noticeably large facial feature. As well as appearing to wear no makeup he also wore no jewellery, not even a single ring denoting whether or not he was married, but as though he felt the need to make up for the lack of dramatic sparkle his eyes themselves seemed to glitter artificially.

They spoke of everything but the Hunger Games as they ate, the food tasting like ash in her mouth, with an emphasis on the weather of all things, Leonitos telling her all about how it was unusual for the time of year. But once the meal was over and had been cleared away by a couple of painfully young women dressed in the recognisable garb of slaves of the Capitol she was led up to the master suite of his luxuries property he began speaking of her duties as a Victor, clearly and without any attempt to convince her that she wasn’t as much of a slave as the Avoxes were. He continued to speak even as he stripped her out of her clothes and directed her to take up a “sensual” position in the centre of the bed as he undressed.

What followed wasn’t particularly unpleasant.

He didn’t hurt her.

He didn’t ask for anything “unusual.”

She just…didn’t want to be there…

Afterwards it was as though he had flipped a switch; he told her to get out and said nothing more to her, disappearing into his en suite bathroom and leaving her to dress herself, an act that was rather more complicated than it should have been due to the nature of the dress.

The last thing she wanted to do in that moment, sore and aching and filled with shame was join the Victors of District Two for afternoon tea but she knew that she had no other choice.

“Victors Village, please,” she requested of the driver as she slipped into the vehicle, plucking a stray strand of gold thread from the hem of her skirt. “Ivory Faust’s house, if you know it.”

“I know it.”

As with her own District the Victor Village was separate to the main compound, surrounded by a high brick wall with an intricate gate. Unlike her own District theirs was guarded by four towering Peacekeepers, one of whom leaned in through the drivers open window to check that she was the only occupant before the gates were opened and they were allowed inside.

Given the militaristic nature of District Two she had been expecting the building inside the wall to be plain and angular. What she discovered, much to her surprise, were two rows of identical houses that were full of curves; curved walls, curved windows, curved steps. In fact the only straight lines present were those that made up the singular towers above each of the building front doors, a long strips of square windows splitting the tower in two, and the path leading from the road from the steps. All of the houses were painted white, she noted with a frown remembering Ivory’s instructions, but on closer inspection she realised that all of the doors, window frames and steps were painted a different colour and that the front gardens had all been carefully designed and cultivated to feature the same colour palettes.

“Persephone,” Ivory greeted her warmly from the front porch of her house as the newest Victor made her way up the path, taking in the surprisingly enchanting house. “Welcome.”

“Your house is beautiful,” Persephone murmured genuinely as she was led inside by the grey haired Victor, discovering that the interior of the house was every bit as surprising as the exterior had been, the soft curves continuing throughout the buildings features and furnishings. Everyone was already seated around a beautifully polished table in the dining room, a luxurious cream tea laid out for them the likes of which she’d never seen. To her confusion there were three deliberately empty spaces left even when she factored in Gloss, Cashmere, herself and even Titus who was there as well. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

“When we gather like this we have a tradition of leaving spaces for those no longer with us,” Ivory explained as Brutus rose from his seat to pull first Persephone’s chair out for her and then that of their hostess. Each of the gathered Victors nodded, minus Kol who seemed to be lost in the pot of strawberry jam closest to him. “To remember Nero, Invictus and Odius.”

It was a strangely touching thing to do, more so considering it was being done by the Victors who were known for being “cold hearted killers”, and Persephone found herself near tears.

Gloss, sat to her right, leaned down to enquire worriedly,

“Persephone? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she murmured in response, managing a small smile. “Long day, that’s all.”

They all knew better than to press her for the true reason behind her watering eyes.

“Tuck in, everyone,” Ivory announced from her seat at the head of the table. Brutus, the second oldest Victor, had been placed at the foot of the table. “Before the tea gets cold.”

Given that she had grown up on a strict diet due to her desire to become a prima ballerina in the Capitol, things such as a cream teas being strictly forbidden, Persephone hesitated long enough for the others to begin helping themselves, watching them prepared their helpings of food to see what she needed to do. The scone she selected from the nearest tray was plain rather than one of the ones with currents in and had already been sliced in half, allowing her to lay the two sides out on her plate. She then accepted the pot of clotted cream from Gloss and carefully spooned a large dollop onto each half, smoothing it out as best as she could with her knife. Next she took the strawberry jam from Ivory who was sat on her left and carefully spread a generous amount on top of the cream. Lastly she poured herself a cup of tea from the closest of the pots, adding a small amount of milk and sugar.

“Some people prefer to put the jam on first,” Gloss explained, nodding to where Enobaria was helping Kol to spread his jam on his scone. The young Victor was sat directly opposite Persephone, Enobaria taking the seat opposite Gloss, and just as Gloss had said he put his jam on first, then the clotted cream. “It’s been a source of debate for years here in Two.”

“And the Capitol,” Nerilla piped up from where she was sat on Brutus’ left at the foot of the table. One of the spaces left for the deceased Victors was between her and Gannicus who was sat to Cashmere’s right. Cashmere and Gloss, of course, were seated next to each other. “Although they use _alternative_ flavours of jam when it should only ever be strawberry…”

“Nothing wrong with some experimentation, my dear,” Titus piped up in his highly accented voice, his own scones covered with an obscene amount of jam and very little cream. “There is an absolutely delicious raspberry and chocolate jam which would go perfectly with this clotted cream. Oh, and a lavender jam. That and rose petal jam are my sisters favourites.”

Nerilla wasn’t the only one to pull a face at the Escorts announcement.

As they ate the conversation remained light, purposefully so, but Persephone found herself struggling to join in as her gaze kept being drawn to the empty place settings. Each of them had a light blue place card bearing their name in deep blue ink in front of their place setting, including those that were absent, and so Persephone knew that the space between Nerilla and Gannicus was for Invictus Brandt, Victor of the 16th Hunger Games who was known to have “accidently hung herself” on the twentieth anniversary of her Games. On the other side of the table the space between Enobaria and Lyme had been left for Nero Popplewell, Victor of the 22nd Hunger Games, who had died “unexpectedly” whilst visiting the Capitol during the Victory Tour of the 47th Hunger Games. The last space, left between Lyme and Titus, was for Odius Atkins who, as the Victor of the 5th Hunger Games, was featured quite heavily in the Capitol’s broadcasts showcasing past Victors. He had been the final member of the “first five” and had been the first Victor of District Two, beginning its reputation for producing bloodthirsty killers due to his “impressive” performance. He had died peacefully in his sleep during the 70th Hunger Games and had been so fondly remembered by those residing in the Capitol that they had created a memorial show of his “finest moments.”

She only managed to eat half of her cream tea, her stomach unsettled and already mostly full thanks to the lunch she had shared with Leonitos Yago, although she had four cups of lightly sweetened tea as the blend was particularly nice. Afterwards they retired to the front room where, no longer confronted by the memorial seats, she was able to join with more of the conversations that sprung up around her as they settled into smaller groups. She spoke of dancing with Ivory, of her training for the Games with Enobaria and Lyme, of her unique hair colour with Kol, of the injuries she had received with Gannicus and of her life back in District One with Brutus and Nerilla. Gloss and Cashmere stayed close, almost to the point of hovering as they blatantly watched out for her even though she was among “friends.”

Eventually Titus brought their semi-pleasant afternoon to an end, announcing that she had to leave if she was to join the Districts Mayor, Romulus Acker, for dinner before her evening appointment Fabius Quintus Magnusson. The dinner was pleasant enough, Mayor Acker the epitome of a lovable grandfather when out of the public eye rather than the strict military man that he’d appeared to be earlier, but the appointment after was anything but pleasant.

It made her previous appointments seem almost bearable.

He was older, the same age as President Snow, and he had dyed his hands red to match the wig that he wore to cover up the fact that his own hair had receded past the stylish amount.

He was also cruel, calculated and a complete and utter sadist.

Dying his hands red had come before the red wig, he informed her partway through the evening, as it meant that if he didn’t get all of the blood off of his hands after he’d finished playing no one was any the wiser. By then she’d been sobbing pathetically, curled up on the bed with her pale back covered in bleeding welts and begging weakly for him to stop hurting her. He’d ignored her, delighting in her pain, and by the time she had been handed over to Titus who’d been waiting to take her back to the train her makeup was streaked down her cheeks, marking the tracks of her tears, and her back had almost been completely ruined.

Titus must have had an inkling about the kind of things Magnusson liked to do to the Victors he made appointments with as he’d arranged for a doctor from _Victors Mercy_ to be waiting for them at the train when they arrived. Gloss and Cashmere must have realised something was up when the doctor had arrived as they were both waiting for her too, their worried expressions transforming into identical looks of pure horror as the doctor set about treating the wounds she had suffered. Three of the welts had to be treated with stitches they were so deep and would later require treatment to ensure that they didn’t scar and ruin her skin.

Persephone herself was beyond caring thanks to the strong painkillers she’d been given.

“Stay,” she pleaded weakly when her Mentors made as though they were going to follow Titus and the doctor out of her bedroom, reaching out for them. “I don’t want…please…”

“Of course,” Cashmere agreed, stripping down to her underwear rather than fetching her nightclothes and sliding into bed beside Persephone. Gloss followed a moment later after ensuring that the door was locked so that Titus couldn’t just walk in like he had before. Once he had climbed into the bed he lay on his back and opened his arms wide, allowing the trembling young woman to all but crawl on top of him as her tears began again. She lay on her front as she had been before so as not to aggravate her back, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. His arms cradled her gently, purposefully avoiding the bandages, whilst Cashmere moved as close as she dare, resting her hand on the small of her back. “Ok?”

“…I don’t understand why he…why would he…”

“Some men are just born to be…cruel…”

“…I thought I could handle being…a…a…but if they’re like him…I…”

There was nothing either of her Mentors could say to reassure her that she wouldn’t be mistreated similarly in the future as they had both had experiences with particular clients who preferred to inflict pain rather than demand pleasure. All they could do was comfort her as best they could, running their hands lightly over her undamaged skin and murmuring softly to her until she eventually fell asleep. Neither of her Mentors got any sleep that night.

~ * ~

**A/N** Poor Persephone. And this is Panem pre-revolution so I’m afraid we all know it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. I tried not to be too graphic so as not to upset anyone but still be graphic enough that you understood what was going on. I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter out – I haven’t had any time to do any writing at all for the last couple of weeks due to a show I have been performing in taking up all of my time. And before anyone wonders there is a reason I gave Cecelia an extra child in this chapter. I’m sure some if not most of you can guess how she’s going to end up only having three children by the time we get to the Quarter Quell… Comments & Suggestions welcome as always. X

 


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